At last, a little sappy A/B
Aug. 22nd, 2004 12:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
archetHappy (belated) Birthday ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
seleneheart! This began as a fluffy drabble but suddenly grew into a slightly angsty-mostly-sappy ficlet. ;)
Title: A King’s Promise
Author: Archet
Rating: PG
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Summary: Aragorn visits his ailing Steward.
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, I did not create them, I only made the ficlet.
Warning: only sap
Archive: my LJ, rugbytackle, anyone else interested please ask.
Note: forseleneheart’s birthday. This is an AU where Boromir did not die at Parth Galen - (is there any other kind?) - alas, Arwen gets no mention here.
Feedback: is welcomed and appreciated!
~*~
Aragorn thrust the cup at Boromir, who eyed the item suspiciously.
“Drink it.”
“I don’t need it. I’m fine.”
“You’re not. Drink it.”
“Leave it on the table there, I will drink it later.”
Aragorn sighed, not the least fooled by the innocent look sent his way.
“I will not. Knowing you you’re more likely to pour it out the window. Don’t you want to feel better?”
Boromir sat up straighter in the bed, away from the pillows heaped behind him and made an effort to smile.
“But I do. I feel better than yesterday.”
Aragorn took in the too bright eyes and the flushed cheeks. He reached out and laid the back of his hand against Boromir’s cheek and after a moment turned his hand so his palm cupped Boromir’s stubbled jaw.
“Perhaps, but you’re still fevered. This recipe will help.”
Boromir dropped his eyes and sighed, seemingly resigned to his fate. Sensing victory, Aragorn leaned in close, careful to keep the cup in his other hand balanced.
“I know you’re unhappy being caged here when there is so much work to be done, but the sooner you’re well the sooner you can return to your duties...and the sooner I can have my Steward sleeping at my side once more.”
At this Boromir’s gaze drifted up. He offered softly, “It’s just a bit of cold, I don’t know why everyone is carrying on so.”
Aragorn shook his head in exasperation. “This is more than a bit of cold, and you know as well as I that even a bit of cold can fast become something serious. You know your wounds from Pareth Galen are not completely healed. Your body has to have help to overcome these things and these medicines will do that.”
“I know,” Boromir mumbled, his gaze dropping away once more.
Aragorn sat down on the edge of the bed, the hand on Boromir’s cheek moving up to brush fair hair away from his temple. Boromir leaned into the touch, eyes sliding shut and so not seeing the sudden frown on Aragorn’s face.
“The fever is rising.” Aragorn said, as if he could sense the heat cresting in Boromir’s body by the mere touch of his fingers in Boromir’s hair.
Boromir reclined against the pillows not bothering to argue Aragorn’s observation, but simply happy to have his King’s hands on him. It was partly the fever and partly his impatience at being shut indoors for days on end that loosened the reserve that might have stopped his next words.
“The brew makes me dream. I don’t care for it.”
At his side Aragorn kept his fingers moving in Boromir’s hair. His hand curled tighter around the cup he held as he studied Boromir’s face, pale under the flush of fever.
“The medicines bring you dark dreams?”
Eyes still closed, Boromir slowly nodded and beside him Aragorn fought not to react to the sudden clench in his chest. He bowed his head and thought, my stubborn Steward, why did you not tell me? He had not known of this particular effect of the herbal brew and Boromir had never complained, until now. After a moment of silence that spanned several heartbeats, Aragorn lifted his head, his gaze steady on Boromir’s face.
“Boromir.”
Boromir’s eyes opened after a moment, the green gaze glassy but alert. Aragorn’s fingers tightened in Boromir’s hair, gripping lightly at the nape of his neck. He drew close.
“Will you believe me if I tell you that if you drink, I will stay with you and keep the dreams away?”
Boromir lay still, looking back into Aragorn’s face, and it was on the tip of his tongue to say that a King had no business lingering in sick chambers all hours of the night when he should be resting in his own bed, but as he felt Aragorn’s fingers lace tight in his hair he found himself nodding his acquiescence.
Aragorn smiled, and without hesitating brought the cup to Boromir’s lips, who after a few moments obediently drained it of its herbal medicine. Aragorn set the cup aside and hid a smile as Boromir coughed and pulled a sour face. It was in him to tease his lover, but in the end he kept quiet. Standing, he took a moment to stretch, and then pulled a nearby chair close to the side of the bed. Settling down into the wooden chair he took Boromir’s hand in his.
“Sleep now. I swear to you no dreams will disturb you.”
Sinking down against the pillows Boromir wanted to protest, to say that he was no child and needed no one to guard his rest, but his eyes were suddenly so heavy, and Aragorn’s touch felt so cool against his skin. Yet he fought sleep, if only to look upon his King for a while longer.
Shaking his head Aragorn stroked Boromir’s palm, his wrist, sliding his hand all the up to the elbow and back down again, fingertips tracing the faint lines of veins beneath the thin vulnerable skin. He willed the medicines to travel fast and sure, and to bring no dark shadows to his beloved Steward’s rest.
“Stop being so stubborn and go to sleep or I will call for Faramir to come and recite his histories.”
“Which ones would that be?” Boromir mumbled crossly, eyes half closed.
“All of them.” Aragorn countered flatly.
At this Boromir harrumphed, shut his eyes, and seemingly dropped off to sleep straight away. At his side Aragon smiled, sensing in a way he had no words for a profound healing rest stealing over Boromir.
Outside the window the sun hung low in the cloudless sky, and after a while she dipped behind the far dark mountains and a cool purple twilight descended over the lands. Servants came presently and lit candles then withdrew wordlessly and soon after Faramir appeared in the doorway. With a nod to his King he entered the room and for a time hovered worriedly at his brother’s bedside before finally sitting in the only other chair in the small room.
Together he and Aragorn spoke of Boromir and of other matters and not long after a pale round moon had risen in the black night sky outside the window did Faramir’s eyelids began to droop. Aragorn urged him to bed, though it was some time more until Faramir actually took his leave.
With a gentle kiss to Boromir’s forehead and a bow to his King he promised to look in on his brother when next his duties allowed, and then he made his way quietly out of the room.
In Faramir’s wake Aragorn found that he himself felt no overriding tiredness. As the night wore on there were times where he allowed his eyes to close but he did not sleep. He kept his touch moving over Boromir’s hand and arm with slow, soothing strokes. He opened his eyes and for a time watched the glimmer of candlelight against fair hair, the regular rise and fall of Boromir’s chest and it seemed before long golden shafts of sunlight was filling the chamber with new warmth.
Aragorn blinked, and emerging from the near trace he’d drifted into watched as Boromir’s lids fluttered, as his eyes opened and blinked sleepily before his clear, green gaze met Aragorn’s.
The eyes told the story. The fever had gone, and as Boromir sighed and drifted back off to sleep Aragorn lifted the hand he held to his lips and laid a gentle kiss there, then simply held Boromir’s palm against his cheek for a moment.
The fever had gone and Aragorn had kept his promise. His Steward was on the mend. Aragorn could sense it in a way he had no words for. At last he felt the first touch of weariness pulling at his mind, and laying his head down on the bed, Aragorn allowed his eyes to slide shut. He slept beside his Steward and dreamed of green eyes warmed with a fever of a different kind, and of all the nights to come.
Servants came and after snuffing out the candles which had burned low during the night, left the room soundlessly, and all that day no one was allowed to disturb the rest of their lords, who slept so soundly beside one another, hand in hand.
seleneheart! This began as a fluffy drabble but suddenly grew into a slightly angsty-mostly-sappy ficlet. ;)Title: A King’s Promise
Author: Archet
Rating: PG
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Summary: Aragorn visits his ailing Steward.
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, I did not create them, I only made the ficlet.
Warning: only sap
Archive: my LJ, rugbytackle, anyone else interested please ask.
Note: for
seleneheart’s birthday. This is an AU where Boromir did not die at Parth Galen - (is there any other kind?) - alas, Arwen gets no mention here.Feedback: is welcomed and appreciated!
~*~
Aragorn thrust the cup at Boromir, who eyed the item suspiciously.
“Drink it.”
“I don’t need it. I’m fine.”
“You’re not. Drink it.”
“Leave it on the table there, I will drink it later.”
Aragorn sighed, not the least fooled by the innocent look sent his way.
“I will not. Knowing you you’re more likely to pour it out the window. Don’t you want to feel better?”
Boromir sat up straighter in the bed, away from the pillows heaped behind him and made an effort to smile.
“But I do. I feel better than yesterday.”
Aragorn took in the too bright eyes and the flushed cheeks. He reached out and laid the back of his hand against Boromir’s cheek and after a moment turned his hand so his palm cupped Boromir’s stubbled jaw.
“Perhaps, but you’re still fevered. This recipe will help.”
Boromir dropped his eyes and sighed, seemingly resigned to his fate. Sensing victory, Aragorn leaned in close, careful to keep the cup in his other hand balanced.
“I know you’re unhappy being caged here when there is so much work to be done, but the sooner you’re well the sooner you can return to your duties...and the sooner I can have my Steward sleeping at my side once more.”
At this Boromir’s gaze drifted up. He offered softly, “It’s just a bit of cold, I don’t know why everyone is carrying on so.”
Aragorn shook his head in exasperation. “This is more than a bit of cold, and you know as well as I that even a bit of cold can fast become something serious. You know your wounds from Pareth Galen are not completely healed. Your body has to have help to overcome these things and these medicines will do that.”
“I know,” Boromir mumbled, his gaze dropping away once more.
Aragorn sat down on the edge of the bed, the hand on Boromir’s cheek moving up to brush fair hair away from his temple. Boromir leaned into the touch, eyes sliding shut and so not seeing the sudden frown on Aragorn’s face.
“The fever is rising.” Aragorn said, as if he could sense the heat cresting in Boromir’s body by the mere touch of his fingers in Boromir’s hair.
Boromir reclined against the pillows not bothering to argue Aragorn’s observation, but simply happy to have his King’s hands on him. It was partly the fever and partly his impatience at being shut indoors for days on end that loosened the reserve that might have stopped his next words.
“The brew makes me dream. I don’t care for it.”
At his side Aragorn kept his fingers moving in Boromir’s hair. His hand curled tighter around the cup he held as he studied Boromir’s face, pale under the flush of fever.
“The medicines bring you dark dreams?”
Eyes still closed, Boromir slowly nodded and beside him Aragorn fought not to react to the sudden clench in his chest. He bowed his head and thought, my stubborn Steward, why did you not tell me? He had not known of this particular effect of the herbal brew and Boromir had never complained, until now. After a moment of silence that spanned several heartbeats, Aragorn lifted his head, his gaze steady on Boromir’s face.
“Boromir.”
Boromir’s eyes opened after a moment, the green gaze glassy but alert. Aragorn’s fingers tightened in Boromir’s hair, gripping lightly at the nape of his neck. He drew close.
“Will you believe me if I tell you that if you drink, I will stay with you and keep the dreams away?”
Boromir lay still, looking back into Aragorn’s face, and it was on the tip of his tongue to say that a King had no business lingering in sick chambers all hours of the night when he should be resting in his own bed, but as he felt Aragorn’s fingers lace tight in his hair he found himself nodding his acquiescence.
Aragorn smiled, and without hesitating brought the cup to Boromir’s lips, who after a few moments obediently drained it of its herbal medicine. Aragorn set the cup aside and hid a smile as Boromir coughed and pulled a sour face. It was in him to tease his lover, but in the end he kept quiet. Standing, he took a moment to stretch, and then pulled a nearby chair close to the side of the bed. Settling down into the wooden chair he took Boromir’s hand in his.
“Sleep now. I swear to you no dreams will disturb you.”
Sinking down against the pillows Boromir wanted to protest, to say that he was no child and needed no one to guard his rest, but his eyes were suddenly so heavy, and Aragorn’s touch felt so cool against his skin. Yet he fought sleep, if only to look upon his King for a while longer.
Shaking his head Aragorn stroked Boromir’s palm, his wrist, sliding his hand all the up to the elbow and back down again, fingertips tracing the faint lines of veins beneath the thin vulnerable skin. He willed the medicines to travel fast and sure, and to bring no dark shadows to his beloved Steward’s rest.
“Stop being so stubborn and go to sleep or I will call for Faramir to come and recite his histories.”
“Which ones would that be?” Boromir mumbled crossly, eyes half closed.
“All of them.” Aragorn countered flatly.
At this Boromir harrumphed, shut his eyes, and seemingly dropped off to sleep straight away. At his side Aragon smiled, sensing in a way he had no words for a profound healing rest stealing over Boromir.
Outside the window the sun hung low in the cloudless sky, and after a while she dipped behind the far dark mountains and a cool purple twilight descended over the lands. Servants came presently and lit candles then withdrew wordlessly and soon after Faramir appeared in the doorway. With a nod to his King he entered the room and for a time hovered worriedly at his brother’s bedside before finally sitting in the only other chair in the small room.
Together he and Aragorn spoke of Boromir and of other matters and not long after a pale round moon had risen in the black night sky outside the window did Faramir’s eyelids began to droop. Aragorn urged him to bed, though it was some time more until Faramir actually took his leave.
With a gentle kiss to Boromir’s forehead and a bow to his King he promised to look in on his brother when next his duties allowed, and then he made his way quietly out of the room.
In Faramir’s wake Aragorn found that he himself felt no overriding tiredness. As the night wore on there were times where he allowed his eyes to close but he did not sleep. He kept his touch moving over Boromir’s hand and arm with slow, soothing strokes. He opened his eyes and for a time watched the glimmer of candlelight against fair hair, the regular rise and fall of Boromir’s chest and it seemed before long golden shafts of sunlight was filling the chamber with new warmth.
Aragorn blinked, and emerging from the near trace he’d drifted into watched as Boromir’s lids fluttered, as his eyes opened and blinked sleepily before his clear, green gaze met Aragorn’s.
The eyes told the story. The fever had gone, and as Boromir sighed and drifted back off to sleep Aragorn lifted the hand he held to his lips and laid a gentle kiss there, then simply held Boromir’s palm against his cheek for a moment.
The fever had gone and Aragorn had kept his promise. His Steward was on the mend. Aragorn could sense it in a way he had no words for. At last he felt the first touch of weariness pulling at his mind, and laying his head down on the bed, Aragorn allowed his eyes to slide shut. He slept beside his Steward and dreamed of green eyes warmed with a fever of a different kind, and of all the nights to come.
Servants came and after snuffing out the candles which had burned low during the night, left the room soundlessly, and all that day no one was allowed to disturb the rest of their lords, who slept so soundly beside one another, hand in hand.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-08-22 12:03 pm (UTC)Absolutely lovely, and yes the only universe possible of course *waves miraculouslyundead!Boromir flag*
no subject
Date: 2004-08-22 12:34 pm (UTC)*pets miraculouslyundead!Boromir* *g*
no subject
Date: 2004-08-22 01:14 pm (UTC)I love the AU of miraculouslyundead Boromir, especially when he is with Aragorn!
no subject
Date: 2004-08-23 03:51 pm (UTC)love the AU of miraculouslyundead Boromir, especially when he is with Aragorn!
Oooohh...so do I! *g*
no subject
Date: 2004-08-22 03:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-08-23 03:54 pm (UTC)your icon is so lovely! can I ask where it's taken from?
no subject
Date: 2004-08-23 07:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-08-22 04:52 pm (UTC)~Kris
no subject
Date: 2004-08-23 03:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-08-23 04:02 pm (UTC)I can easily imagine Faramir excited and involved in trying to get across some obscure point, and Boromir staring off into the middle distance and chiming in from time to time, "That's nice, Faramir." *g*
You know how much I love happy endings for these two. And the image of Aragorn staying beside Boromir while he healed . . . *shivers*
Oh, I love protective!Aragorn too, *g*
Thank you so much for this!
You're very welcome! I hope your birthday was a lovely one, *hugs*
no subject
Date: 2004-08-23 07:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-08-23 04:05 pm (UTC)Oh, same here! It seems I can't write A/B without Boromir being, well, miraculously undead. *g*
I'm glad you enjoyed, ;)
no subject
Date: 2004-08-23 01:25 pm (UTC)Worry not, I sent Elladan out of the room while reading this lovely little piece. You know how possessive that Elf can be. *g*
Would you write about Boromir's dreams, too?
no subject
Date: 2004-08-23 04:11 pm (UTC)Write about Boromir's dreams? Do you mean his dreams of a certain man who would be king, or a certain dark haired, possessive Elf? *G*
I'm glad you liked the ficlet, even if it was A/B :D
no subject
Date: 2004-08-23 04:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-08-28 03:47 pm (UTC)This was beautiful.
no subject
Date: 2004-08-28 10:17 pm (UTC)Oh, I appreciate all those things as well, esp. Undead!Boromir. ;)
Thanks for reading, I'm glad you enjoyed!
no subject
Date: 2004-09-12 08:28 am (UTC)And I too like miraculouslyundead!Boromir, especially when Aragorn gets to boss him around and threaten him with a boring!Faramir. Ha.
Thanks.
no subject
Date: 2004-09-12 02:43 pm (UTC)