First off, at last, not a drabble!
Jun. 21st, 2004 01:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
archetAnd secondly, this is the ficlet that would not die. Believe me, I wanted it to at times, if I rewrote it once, I rewrote it a hundred times...and not using an 'L' for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
milochka's liprogram challenge was the least of it. But anyway, here it is, I'm calling it finished as I'm at work so I really, really should get back to work. Oh, the horror! ;)
Title: Comfort and Rest
Author: Archet
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Rating: PG
Summary: In the Golden Wood, after Boromir’s speech, Aragorn knows what Boromir needs.
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, I’m not claiming that are. No infringement implied or intended. This is fiction.
Feedback: welcomed and appreciated
Note: this is formilochka lipogram challenge where no L’s must be used. (Microsoft assures me there are none) I'll label this an AU as well, as it's movieverse fic and there we were lead to believe that the fellowship slept near one another on their first night in the Golden Wood, here Aragorn and Boromir sleep apart from the group.
Warning: not beta’ed, may contain a fair amount of sap.
~*~
Aragorn knew not how to answer Boromir’s words, how to offer the brave, weary son of Gondor the hope he sought, so for many moments Aragorn said nothing. He gazed at Boromir and saw a fine, brave man, a man beset with a pain that might never be soothed. The quietness between them seemed to echo with it in the wake of Boromir’s soft spoken words.
Soft spoken words that had cut Aragorn to the core with their earnestness, their pride.
No, Aragorn knew not what to say about Gondor’s future. He might extend the vague promise that her fate was not decided, that hope yet remained, but that seemed a cheap offering for Boromir, her Captain.
Instead, and with scant notice to the warning in his mind, he ventured, “Boromir, might you come take rest with me?”
Moments ago Boromir had seemed ready to sweep aside the mistrust, the doubts, the awkwardness that had dogged their steps for weeks; he had seemed ready to accept more than the wary friendship they had forged so far. Perhaps, Aragorn thought, by speaking of the desire in his heart he had said the wrong thing. He did not know, so he waited.
“I am not tired.” Boromir spoke the untruth with downcast eyes, and then spoke no more. He turned away, gazed out at where the shadows and patches of moon-cast brightness moved amongst the ancient trees that surrounded them.
Aragorn sighed, thinking that he had indeed misspoken. It happened so often between them, and now the quietness descended again, heavy and pregnant with things unsaid.
Aragorn watched Boromir, sat captivated by the touch of the moon and stars against his fair hair and knew with sudden certainty what was needed was not words or promises.
“You need to rest.”
Boromir turned, eyes tired but defiant. “I need nothing from you.”
Another untruth this, and Aragorn knew it, had no doubts about it. He had heard Boromir speak his heart, had heard the younger man’s naked need for respite from the darkness weighing upon him. Aragorn had seen the dawning of trust in Boromir’s eyes once before and now he wanted to see it again.
“But you do.”
Then the words came from somewhere deep within Aragorn, from somewhere strong and warm with desire and protectiveness and so much more. “You need strong arms this night, Boromir. You need the comfort of warmth and rest found somewhere safe, on this night where you’ve confessed to me you can find no sense of safekeeping.”
Boromir’s answer came, sharp and cutting, “You speak as if you care.”
“I do care. Perhaps I care too much.”
Moments passed, measured out by the bare breeze stirring the trees, by the shifting patches of moonshine that drifted over the grassy ground of the enchanted Wood.
“I am weary of trying to understand you, Aragorn.”
“Yes, you are weary, Boromir, as am I. So come, find the rest you seek with me this night. Put down your burdens, if just for one night.”
Boromir drew away. He had confessed the cares of his heart, and now was tempted by Aragorn’s offer, but he knew he must not succumb. Was he not the Captain of the White Tower? The one who was to stand strong against...everything? But knowing this did not stop his wondering what Aragorn wanted from him.
Put down my burdens for a night? Can I even do that?
“What do you offer me, Aragorn?”
Aragorn watched Boromir with hope in his eyes, “A night spent in safety, by my side, within my reach where nothing can harm you.”
Boromir shivered, managed to get out, “I, cannot accept this offer.”
It was in him to accept, he wanted to accept, and Boromir feared the truth of it, feared where that might take his heart.
At Boromir’s answer Aragorn shook his head, not about to be sent away, not wanting Boromir to be on his own in the coming darkness.
“I offer it again, then.”
“I must not...” Boromir began, his voice fading to quiet as he turned his face away.
“Must not what, my Boromir?”
At this Boromir turned back, gazed into Aragorn’s darkened eyes, his entire body drawn tense.
“I fight too many wars as it is, I cannot afford another.”
Aragorn read the need in Boromir’s gaze, a need that answered Aragorn’s own. He recognized a need for comfort and rest that was bound up in pride and fear and the habit of being the protector and not the protected.
“Then do not fight me, Boromir,” And being done with words, Aragorn moved forward, his heart pounding, and reaching out, wrapped Boromir in his arms, so very tight.
Many, many moments passed, measured out by Boromir’s harsh breaths before his stiff stance softened, before his strong body sank into Aragorn’s steady embrace and accepted the offer of comfort and friendship and something more that went unspoken between them.
Aragorn appreciated Boromir’s acquiescence as a rare, treasured gift and with shaking hands drew him down onto the grassy ground beneath the ancient trees. He drew Boromir tight against him, against his body and wanted more than he’d ever wanted and the truth of it might have broken him had he not been certain, that this was how it was supposed to be: Boromir, within his arms, pressed to his heart.
This was right, it was meant, and now it was so.
Aragorn had known, and now accepted that his heart was in the keeping of not one, but two, and he knew not if he’d ever reach the point of earning any of his heart’s desires but the pendant he forever wore was warm against his skin and he knew no more doubts. He knew not what the morrow might bring but for now he’d keep Boromir wrapped tight in his embrace. For now he’d guard Boromir’s rest and vowed not to free him from his arms before morning, if even then.
Time passed, eased by and away and when the bright, quiet dawn broke over the rim of the sky it wandered through the ancient trees and found Aragorn awake but not tired, his arms strong around Boromir as he drew fair hair burnished by the waking sun through his fingers, again and again.
This was right, it was meant, and for now, it was so.
milochka's liprogram challenge was the least of it. But anyway, here it is, I'm calling it finished as I'm at work so I really, really should get back to work. Oh, the horror! ;)Title: Comfort and Rest
Author: Archet
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Rating: PG
Summary: In the Golden Wood, after Boromir’s speech, Aragorn knows what Boromir needs.
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, I’m not claiming that are. No infringement implied or intended. This is fiction.
Feedback: welcomed and appreciated
Note: this is for
milochka lipogram challenge where no L’s must be used. (Microsoft assures me there are none) I'll label this an AU as well, as it's movieverse fic and there we were lead to believe that the fellowship slept near one another on their first night in the Golden Wood, here Aragorn and Boromir sleep apart from the group.Warning: not beta’ed, may contain a fair amount of sap.
~*~
Aragorn knew not how to answer Boromir’s words, how to offer the brave, weary son of Gondor the hope he sought, so for many moments Aragorn said nothing. He gazed at Boromir and saw a fine, brave man, a man beset with a pain that might never be soothed. The quietness between them seemed to echo with it in the wake of Boromir’s soft spoken words.
Soft spoken words that had cut Aragorn to the core with their earnestness, their pride.
No, Aragorn knew not what to say about Gondor’s future. He might extend the vague promise that her fate was not decided, that hope yet remained, but that seemed a cheap offering for Boromir, her Captain.
Instead, and with scant notice to the warning in his mind, he ventured, “Boromir, might you come take rest with me?”
Moments ago Boromir had seemed ready to sweep aside the mistrust, the doubts, the awkwardness that had dogged their steps for weeks; he had seemed ready to accept more than the wary friendship they had forged so far. Perhaps, Aragorn thought, by speaking of the desire in his heart he had said the wrong thing. He did not know, so he waited.
“I am not tired.” Boromir spoke the untruth with downcast eyes, and then spoke no more. He turned away, gazed out at where the shadows and patches of moon-cast brightness moved amongst the ancient trees that surrounded them.
Aragorn sighed, thinking that he had indeed misspoken. It happened so often between them, and now the quietness descended again, heavy and pregnant with things unsaid.
Aragorn watched Boromir, sat captivated by the touch of the moon and stars against his fair hair and knew with sudden certainty what was needed was not words or promises.
“You need to rest.”
Boromir turned, eyes tired but defiant. “I need nothing from you.”
Another untruth this, and Aragorn knew it, had no doubts about it. He had heard Boromir speak his heart, had heard the younger man’s naked need for respite from the darkness weighing upon him. Aragorn had seen the dawning of trust in Boromir’s eyes once before and now he wanted to see it again.
“But you do.”
Then the words came from somewhere deep within Aragorn, from somewhere strong and warm with desire and protectiveness and so much more. “You need strong arms this night, Boromir. You need the comfort of warmth and rest found somewhere safe, on this night where you’ve confessed to me you can find no sense of safekeeping.”
Boromir’s answer came, sharp and cutting, “You speak as if you care.”
“I do care. Perhaps I care too much.”
Moments passed, measured out by the bare breeze stirring the trees, by the shifting patches of moonshine that drifted over the grassy ground of the enchanted Wood.
“I am weary of trying to understand you, Aragorn.”
“Yes, you are weary, Boromir, as am I. So come, find the rest you seek with me this night. Put down your burdens, if just for one night.”
Boromir drew away. He had confessed the cares of his heart, and now was tempted by Aragorn’s offer, but he knew he must not succumb. Was he not the Captain of the White Tower? The one who was to stand strong against...everything? But knowing this did not stop his wondering what Aragorn wanted from him.
Put down my burdens for a night? Can I even do that?
“What do you offer me, Aragorn?”
Aragorn watched Boromir with hope in his eyes, “A night spent in safety, by my side, within my reach where nothing can harm you.”
Boromir shivered, managed to get out, “I, cannot accept this offer.”
It was in him to accept, he wanted to accept, and Boromir feared the truth of it, feared where that might take his heart.
At Boromir’s answer Aragorn shook his head, not about to be sent away, not wanting Boromir to be on his own in the coming darkness.
“I offer it again, then.”
“I must not...” Boromir began, his voice fading to quiet as he turned his face away.
“Must not what, my Boromir?”
At this Boromir turned back, gazed into Aragorn’s darkened eyes, his entire body drawn tense.
“I fight too many wars as it is, I cannot afford another.”
Aragorn read the need in Boromir’s gaze, a need that answered Aragorn’s own. He recognized a need for comfort and rest that was bound up in pride and fear and the habit of being the protector and not the protected.
“Then do not fight me, Boromir,” And being done with words, Aragorn moved forward, his heart pounding, and reaching out, wrapped Boromir in his arms, so very tight.
Many, many moments passed, measured out by Boromir’s harsh breaths before his stiff stance softened, before his strong body sank into Aragorn’s steady embrace and accepted the offer of comfort and friendship and something more that went unspoken between them.
Aragorn appreciated Boromir’s acquiescence as a rare, treasured gift and with shaking hands drew him down onto the grassy ground beneath the ancient trees. He drew Boromir tight against him, against his body and wanted more than he’d ever wanted and the truth of it might have broken him had he not been certain, that this was how it was supposed to be: Boromir, within his arms, pressed to his heart.
This was right, it was meant, and now it was so.
Aragorn had known, and now accepted that his heart was in the keeping of not one, but two, and he knew not if he’d ever reach the point of earning any of his heart’s desires but the pendant he forever wore was warm against his skin and he knew no more doubts. He knew not what the morrow might bring but for now he’d keep Boromir wrapped tight in his embrace. For now he’d guard Boromir’s rest and vowed not to free him from his arms before morning, if even then.
Time passed, eased by and away and when the bright, quiet dawn broke over the rim of the sky it wandered through the ancient trees and found Aragorn awake but not tired, his arms strong around Boromir as he drew fair hair burnished by the waking sun through his fingers, again and again.
This was right, it was meant, and for now, it was so.
