Mending Broken Hearts IV Not again what?
"You know I didn't mean it like that."
What is he talking of? And why is my lover sitting on the floor in front of
the bed I am lying in? And why is he so annoyed?
I pushed him out.
Oh.
Dimly, I remember something Aragorn said about me being his personal
bed-bunny now. And something about Gandalf.
Oops, I did it again.
He truly must have said something extraordinarily stupid, for even my
legendary temper usually does not flare that easily. But as always, as quickly
as it comes it goes, it's gone now, and all that is left is the dim feeling that
I just have proven my potential danger to all those around me.
Smiling guiltily, I say:
"Sorry..."
Aragorn just gives me a glare and a frown at the same time, slowly moving
back towards the bed.
"What was that? I can't remember insulting you, so would you mind
explaining?" he asks, still mildly angry.
"I—well..."
Actually, what was it that sparked my anger? Something about beds and
Gandalf, that for sure, but just as one can hardly remember the darkness of
night in bright daylight, there were only faint remains to be found in my
memory.
"Yes?"
"Don't know anymore. It just sounded like a stupid, derogatory thing to me.
And then I just, well, snapped."
Am I as stupid in such things as I sound to my own ears?
"Derogatory?"
Careful, I think to myself, now it's his turn to get angry...
"Please, love," I say, dreadfully aware of how difficult it is to get a
decent conversation running between the two of us without one of us getting
violent.
Aragorn sits down on the rim of the bed, still completely naked,—and
growling!
He's growling at me!
Calm down, brickhead, I think, calm down, not again!
"I'm truly sorry. So now stop growling and come back to bed, It makes me
shiver merely looking at you!"
"Shiver with cold, that is," I add as he lifts one of his wonderfully
questioning eyebrows. In a face that usually is so serene, even so small a
gesture can look so... seedy.
I love it.
"Now come on, there's room enough for the two of us. You've got some
explaining to do, Aragorn."
The way he blinks when I say 'Aragorn' makes me hesitate. Though he is
climbing back into bed with me, his eyes do seem distant, evasive.
"Aragorn?" I ask, this time looking carefully for the reaction in his face.
He looks so sad...
What is it that can make a man sad when he hears his own name?
"What's wrong, love?"
He looks at me, his eyes full of thoughts, his body huddled against mine as
if in search of warmth, of shelter.
I remember the changes in him when I first came to my senses in the room next
door, and now I can see it again, faint but still present, worrying me.
"You look so.. worried, love. Is the war still not going well?"
Abruptly, his head jerks up, and his dark, deep eyes look at me full of...
what? But he smiles, and with an incredible effort I manage to keep silent,
waiting until he talks first.
"No," he says with a sigh. "The war is over, Sauron has been defeated."
"Is it! But that's great?"
If it is great, I hear a voice say in my head, then why is your heart
sinking? Thought you could still become a hero? Lost that chance forever,
darling....
Shut up, bitch!
"What happened, tell me! How much have I missed?"
Like a flood suddenly all the questions I had barred from my mind until now
wash over me. What has become of the others? And my family? And...
"You have been dead more than five years now, love."
Five Years?
That's ... quite a long time.
The buzz of questions in my mind comes to a grinding halt.
Five years...
"Both Sauron and Saruman have been utterly defeated, destroyed forever. The
last orc died at your brother's sword two years ago. Grass is now growing over
the ruins of Barad-Dur."
All is over.
How utterly strange.
All I have longed for has been achieved, but not by me. My people are safe,
the enemy defeated.
A great void opens within me, threatening to swallow everything there is.
Had I hoped they would need me? Wouldn't be able to manage without me? Surely
not.
But of what use am I, being the child of impending doom that I am, in a world
like this? In a world at peace?
All I could do was fight—
But if there is no one left to fight against?
All is over...
"Boromir? Love!"
Aragorn's gentle touch returns me to reality. Questioningly, his face
concerned, his outstretched hand still touching my cheek.
"Boromir?"
"It's... It's alright, love. It's just..."
I look at him, forcing myself to smile, to look at Aragorn instead of showing
him how shocked I am despite myself. Holding his hand that so gently, lovingly
was touching my face, I say:
"I just realised that I'm pretty useless here, arenít I?"
"What?"
Oh, he can be so sweet, blinking in astonishment as he does right now. I
could fall for him again every time.
"Useless. Of what good is a warrior in a world that is at peace?"
"You're right," Aragorn answers, his face stern, even sad. But then he looks
at me, and deep in his eyes, I can see the love he feels for me. Like a warm
embrace, his look warms my aching heart, soothing, healing.
"But in my eyes, you're not so much the warrior as the man I love. And that's
at least one occupation to begin with, isn't it?"
True, that it is. And though I still feel insecure about my future life, I
know that it had not been a call to battle that I followed when I came here.
It was his voice calling me, his love giving me the strength to come here, to
come to him.
So when he's the reason I came here in the first place, I shouldn't worry.
Aragorn's far more reliable than I am, that much is certain.
"Yes, it will be enough for a start, and then we'll see. Still good to be
alive."
"Yes," he says, resting his head gently against my chest, gently stroking my
stomach with his hand, "and Arwen will be so glad that you're well."
Oh.
Arwen.
My heart has just jumped off a cliff with obvious suicidal intent, fallen,
hit the ground and burst into countless shards.
"Arwen..."
"Yes, she was so worried it might not work, or go wrong, and she is such a
gentle soul, so caring, she couldn't—Boromir?"
"Arwen." I force myself to look with a smile at the man nestled against me,
his hand still on my stomach, beautiful, naked—and married.
"You're married?" I ask, the mirth in my voice ringing fake even in my ears.
What is this void where my heart ought to be?
"Yes, I am."
Ha! Finally a hint of concern tinges his voice, showing me that the
heartbroken state he has put me in has not gone unnoticed by him.
"Arwen and I are married. We have been for four years, since the end of the
war. Our firstborn son is close to his first year..."
He lets his voice trail away, now finally aware of the emotional calamities
I'm in.
I look at Aragorn who's looking at me with a worried frown, fighting hard to
stay calm, not to do something thoughtless.
"And have you, love, thought yet of any arrangement that would suit our ...
needs?"
The blank look he gives me is answer enough.
Gorgeous.
He's as unprepared as he was five years ago. One would think that he had had
enough time to make up his mind, by now.
"No, not yet," he answers bleakly, obviously feeling even more thoughtless
than I think he is.
I only manage to look at him in slightly amused annoyance.
"But it's not that easy anymore.." Aragorn adds in excuse.
ANYMORE?
"I'm King now. High King of Gondor."
Great. Sure.
"And what does that make me?" I ask growling, feeling my anger flare anew.
"Gondor's First Courtesan? Or merely your mistress?"
"No, neither the one nor the other!"
Surprised at the baleful tone in his voice, I look at Aragorn, his face now
mirthless, stern, intent.
"Stop that garbage immediately! That's beneath you; you know I'd never do
anything so disrespectful."
Then, with mellowed voice, he adds:
"You know I love you, Boromir son of Denethor, and I hold true to my pledge,
even now. We will find a solution, I promise. Now, please, stop harming
yourself. You deserve better."
He is good at talking sweet, have I said that already?
Like butter in the midday-sun my defiant heart softens, giving me a chance to
think without feeling anything but pain and fear of loss.
Why am I always forcing myself into such mental deadlocks?
I know that he would never even think of treating me like this—but the fear
alone is strong enough to make me bolt and lash at all those around me, even if
there is no real danger at all.
"Tell me then, King Aragorn, how do you think the two of us will spend our
days from now on?"
Grinning fiercely, I add:
"Or are you going to keep me confined to these rooms, so that no-one will
ever know about me?"
Now that's a funny thought. Hadn't I imagined pretty much the same
'arrangement', merely with reversed roles, when we were still in Lórien? Fate
definitely has a quirky sense of humour.
"I am no longer Aragorn," he answers, his voice heavy with... what? Dislike?
Regret? Don't know.
"I am now High King Elessar, Ruler of Gondor, the elf stone of my people."
"Nonsense."
Why do I always have to speak before I think?
"They can call you that, but a man cannot change his name, any more than a
deer can turn into a toad."
I speak without thinking, but what I say makes sense as soon as I have the
time to reflect. He has been unhappy, has been forced into a role he fulfils,
but that has never been the one he had wished for. It feels right not to accept
the name he has chosen as his own.
"To me, you will always be Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and no frilly outfit and
no royal title will change that."
I take him into a strong embrace, holding him, wishing I had better words for
what I feel for him, my love; how much I would like to ease his burden.
He only smiles into my chest, I can feel the first, tiny beginnings of
stubble scratch at my skin. So, there is still a little bit of the old Aragorn
in him, I think to myself.
"I missed you, love, have I told you that?" he says without really moving his
head.
"No, not yet. But I missed you, too. Sort of."
Now his head raises in astonishment, and a delicious note of jealousy creeps
into his voice as he asks:
"What do you mean, sort of?"
"Well, my love," I begin, softly stroking his hair and smiling at him
somewhat patronisingly.
"Maybe for you five years have passed since I left you, but for me it feels
as if I had only closed my eyes to die when I opened them again, only to find
myself in your study. Well, in my study, that is."
"I surely won't give it back to you, insolent little Prince! It's mine now!"
We both smile at this humour. It is so good to share even a few moments of
joy with Aragorn without starting to bash our skulls in. With a bit of practise,
we might even manage to live together for more than a few days without killing
each other.
My mind wanders to the people I have shared so many and yet never enough
laughter with in my life, and suddenly, one of the countless questions in the
back of my mind jumps into prominence.
"How is my brother? Is he alright?"
Aragorn nods slowly, seriously.
"Yes, he is. He is Duke of Ithilien, now. And Steward of Gondor."
It takes a while for this information to sink in.
"So father is dead?" I ask, not sure about what to feel.
Aragorn merely nods.
"Oh..."
So my old man is dead.
I am... relieved, in a way. This way, father would never have to cope with
the thought of me in the arms of the King Returned. It would have been too hard
for him.
But then, I grieve as well. Though my father and I never had anything near a
close relationship, he was still my father, and so his death indeed leaves parts
of my heart empty.
"Who else?" I ask, my voice soundless in my ears.
He only looks up at me, questioning.
"Who else has died? How did you win the war?
"The war?" Aragorn begins, and a shining smile blossoms on his face.
"To be honest, it was basically little Frodo who won it—pretty much on his
own as well."
My eyes must show my amazement, for my lover adds:
"After you... " he looks at me for a moment, searchingly, as if to make sure
I am truly with him. "After you had left us, Frodo left the Fellowship and went
off to Mordor on his own, only accompanied by Sam, inseparable as they were."
Aragorn turns around and snuggles into my arm, getting himself comfortable
for a longer story.
"In the very short version, they did the impossible, sneaked into Mordor, and
destroyed the Ring, and Sauron with it."
"So the little ones are still alive? That's truly good news."
"Hmm, yes."
"What?"
"Most of the elves have left middle-earth by now. They sailed to the west,
and only very few remain."
"And?"
"Frodo and Gandalf went with them."
"Oh..."
So much had changed. It truly was a different world that I had been brought
into.
But then, finding your place in a different world is some kind of adventure on
its own, so why should I complain?
Without Aragorn at my side, I'd rather be dead. Valar, this is really
difficult. If it wasn't for the man in my arms, I'd feel utterly lost.
Then it hits me.
"Gandalf? But he died... Though I admit this seems not to be much of an
argument nowadays.."
"No," Aragorn answers with a smile. "He didn't die at all. He fell, fought
the Balrog, survived and left Moria some time after we had been in Lórien. If it
wasn't for him, Sauron would have devastated all but a tiny part of both Gondor
and Rohan before Frodo managed to destroy him in the end."
"I will miss the old wizard..."
"Ah, and you truly owe him gratitude, for it was Gandalf who gave me that
trinket with which I managed to bring you back. Evil old fox."
"But it was you who called me back?"
"Yes. Though I really did not know what I could expect. And to be frank, I
still have no idea how I managed or why exactly you are here with me now."
He sneaks one of his hands up my chest, his fingers gently playing with one
of my nipples.
"But I am so glad that you are. And I really do hope that we'll have more
time, now."
I just hu-um in response.
Feeling his body so close to mine, his head resting on my shoulder, one of his
legs snuggled between mine, I almost drift away into that cosy kind of sluggish
daze that usually follows pleasant, extensive love-making.
The murmur of his voice accompanied my thought's descent into nothingness, the
constant gentle caresses making me feel like a cat in the afternoon-sun.
Might be that I'm not dead, but this if pretty close to heaven.
A slight, distinct slap on my tummy wakes me out of daydream.
"You got nothing to say to that?"
"Sorry?"
"Your brother."
"He what?"
"He married."
Faramir's married?
"Whom?"
Aragorn raises his head, hiding a grin, his eyes glinting like steel with
amused annoyance.
"Éowyn of Rohan," he says with a slight warning.
Blinking in surprise, I answer with a shrug:
"That... woman? Met her once, didn't even invest in a second look."
"Good for you..." Aragorn replies with a cheeky smile.
"You've been dozing off, havenít you?"
The smile that creeps into my face despite myself completely disarms any kind
of denial. So I opt for the 'guilty smile', hoping he will not mind.
Doesn't seem so.
"Not even alive for two hours, and already all the naughty boy, tsk, tsk,
tsk. By the way, why the hell were these two rooms called your 'study'? I bet
you have done very little studying in here."
I didn't call them my study. It had been more of a private retreat for me, my
beer, maybe some wine and some... special acquaintances....
"I did learn quite a lot here in these rooms..."
"Sure you did, I bet. And most of it in this bed, am I right?"
I look at him, not sure if he TRULY wants to know.
"Ahh, forget it, I don't really want to know anyway. Probably brawling and
whoring, if I am not mistaken, and both at the same time, guessing by the
garbage I had carried out of here when I moved in."
It truly had been some what messy up here when I left Minas Tirith, thatís
for sure... But he does not seem to mind in the slightest. On the contrary, he
seems to be extremely fond of my raucous behaviour in my younger days.
"Well, being the eldest son of the Steward of Gondor is full of
responsibilities, and a boy has to have a little fun now and then..."
Aragorn still smiles at me, his eyes shining. And the glint in his eyes has
taken on a suspicious lustre.
"What are you thinking of, you evil man?" I ask, grinning, already knowing
what is on his mind.
We might have had quite a passionate encounter only half an hour ago, but
being so close together, still wholly naked, skin to skin in a bed that has seen
most of my nightly conquests makes it hard not to think of that.
"Nothing," he answers, mocking himself with the very word. "You'd probably be
too tired anyway..."
"What are you trying to say, you sneaky little upstart king? That I couldn't
make you squeak once more?"
"I didn't squeak!"
"You bloody well did!" I answer, and then both of us burst into almost
childish laughter, holding each other, revelling in the feeling that both of us
are alive, cherishing this precious moment.
But Aragorn's hands sneak deeper down along my body, and as our laughter
subsides, his fingertips reach the tuff of curly hair between my legs.
And stop.
"Ready for a second course?" Aragorn asks, a tiny, dirty smile in the corner
of his mouth.
Instead of an answer, I take his head with both hands, pulling his face up to
mine, kissing him wildly.
He returns my kiss as passionately and gently, carefully, without ever leaving
my lips, sneaks up onto my body, gliding like a sun-warm snake.
Oh, what a body.
If this goes on like this, we'll never again leave this bed and die of
starvation.
Would be a better death than the last one, though....
Aragorn abandons my lips in favour of my whole face, kissing my cheeks, my
throat, my eyes, his delightful body smoothly moving on top of mine, covering
me, giving me shivers of delight all over.
Then he sits up, smiling cheekily once more as he feels how much his efforts
have raised my interest. Sitting on my lap, he stretches like a yawning cat, the
thin cover of the bed sliding off him, crumbling to a small heap around his
hips. I hold his waist, revel in the touch of his skin, the weight of his body
on top of my hardness, his own excitement showing clearly in front of me.
He starts moving, gently, savouring each moment, the tight muscles of his
buttocks to each side of my manhood.
It is late afternoon by now, and the sun is shining into the room, almost
horizontally by now, gilding everything, giving this moment an unnatural beauty,
painting gleaming streaks of light on my lover's back.
And on the petite, black-haired person that silently opens the door to our
small bedroom right now.
My heart fails.
This is the Lady Arwen!
Here.
Now.
Oh gods.
Clumsily patting Aragorn on his chest, I manage to gain his attention, but
that the stupid King merely grins and bends down, trying to kiss me while his
lovely wife is looking at his exposed backside!
Forcefully, I take his head, twisting it around until he is able to see the
Queen, standing in the doorframe, a silver tray in her slender hands, and I feel
him stiffen in shock.
"Arwen!" he sputters, too much out of his mind to think of getting rid of my
hands still holding his head, too shocked even to think of covering himself.
"Anybody for tea ?" she asks, her voice mellow, friendly, her face gentle and
full of ignorance of the scene in front of her.
Valar, I want to faint!
by Osiris Brackhaus
lease, Boromir, not
again!"
Remotely, I can still feel an echo of the rage that had possessed me only
moments ago, like a thunderstorm that has passed and is now only roiling at the
horizon, grumbling softly every now and then.
He must be joking!
Hit me, baby, one more time.
