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Entry tags:
remembrance
This post was supposed be a Boromir/Faramir ficlet, that being the first LOTR fic I’ve wrote in...way too long, but taking a quick glance at my friends list I see that today is the day our Boromir fell protecting his little ones and so this short ficlet happpened. A little sad, a little bittersweet, I'm sure it could use some more work but I'm really just glad to actually be back to writing, however briefly. I hope you enjoy...
***
Title: To Remember
Author: Archet
Rating: PG
Pairing/s: Aragorn/Boromir, Arwen/Aragorn
Summary: on the anniversary of Boromir’s death, Aragorn wakes, and remembers.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters.
Feedback: is welcomed and appreciated
Archive: Rugbytackle
~*~****~*~
He sat bolt upright in bed, wide awake, breath rasping and hands grasping empty air. There were no tears on his cheeks, not this time, though he could feel them in his heart and he knew they would always remain there, these endless tears. The name was on his lips and though he did not speak it aloud he could hear it in his mind, an echo of the past now lost to him, as unattainable as a whisper on the wind.
Then suddenly gentle hands were upon him, soothing him, stroking his brow, soft lips moved against his skin.
“That day haunts you still.”
Aragorn closed his eyes, shook his head. “No...it is my failure that haunts me.”
Perhaps it was the sound of his own voice, so strained and trembling, or perhaps it was the sound of the truth, but as soon as he’d spoken the words the tears Aragorn thought banished to his heart rose in his eyes.
Beside him Arwen slipped her arms around him, leaned close. “I have learned of him from you. I have heard the love and pride you held for him in your voice, that you yet still hold for him and every year on this day I wake to find you awash in guilt. Oh, my love, Boromir would not have it so. I know it.”
Aragorn, on hearing the name he could not speak earlier turned from it and pressed his face into his wife’s neck, her soft hair falling about his face. His breath feathered warm against her skin when he spoke. “I know it. But this day, this day more than any other...”
Arwen embraced her husband, then gently took him by his shoulders and pulled him away so as to look into his eyes, darkened with very real sadness and pain.
“Come with me,” and slipping her hand in his, she slid from the bed, pulling him with her. Aragorn followed as she led him to the leaded glass windows that glowed golden with the light of the newly risen sun. Arwen swung open the window and cool, crisp morning air wafted against Aragorn’s face and bare chest. He turned to her wonderingly, but Arwen again put her hands upon his shoulders and turned him back to face the window and the view.
Aragorn gazed out upon the city, his city, Boromir’s city, and found it beautiful, painted with bright golden sunlight as it was. Behind him Arwen pressed her body close, her arms slipping about him.
“He is with you, my love.” She took his hand and drew it up to his chest with her own, pressed his palm flat over his beating heart. “He is right here with you, and he is there...” Aragorn gazed out and knew she meant the White City that lay spread out below them. At last his tears freed themselves to slide down his cheeks as he looked down upon Boromir’s beloved home that was now his own.
Arwen’s arms tightened about him. “Remember not the guilt, remember him.”
Aragorn stared down upon the golden city and yes, he did remember. He remembered another pair of strong arms around him, he remembered a smile, and fair hair twined around his fingers. He remembered nights of undeniable heat and passion and mornings of sweet, lingering kisses. He remembered the pride, the arrogance, and the quarrels. He remembered the utter devotion to a city, to a brother and a father and the expansive kindness shown to two young hobbits. Aragorn remembered his own hands closing around willing flesh, and the beautiful sounds his Boromir had once given him.
His Boromir...
In Arwen’s arms Aragorn stood and shook and remembered, and long after the sun had ascended well into the clear blue sky and her golden light had faded into ordinary day, another ordinary morning he knew he could not ever again allow his guilt to cast a shadow upon the memory of the man that had loved him, that he had loved, that he had lost.
At length Aragorn turned and took Arwen in his arms. He kissed her brow and pulled her close and whispered his thanks.
“My Evenstar, you are right as ever. He would not want me to mourn him so.”
Arwen smiled, eyes bright. “Then do not, my husband. Remember him instead.”
Aragorn nodded and pulled Arwen tight against him. “I will,” he whispered, to his wife, to himself, to the green eyes he saw in his memory.
“I will, always.”
***
Title: To Remember
Author: Archet
Rating: PG
Pairing/s: Aragorn/Boromir, Arwen/Aragorn
Summary: on the anniversary of Boromir’s death, Aragorn wakes, and remembers.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters.
Feedback: is welcomed and appreciated
Archive: Rugbytackle
~*~****~*~
He sat bolt upright in bed, wide awake, breath rasping and hands grasping empty air. There were no tears on his cheeks, not this time, though he could feel them in his heart and he knew they would always remain there, these endless tears. The name was on his lips and though he did not speak it aloud he could hear it in his mind, an echo of the past now lost to him, as unattainable as a whisper on the wind.
Then suddenly gentle hands were upon him, soothing him, stroking his brow, soft lips moved against his skin.
“That day haunts you still.”
Aragorn closed his eyes, shook his head. “No...it is my failure that haunts me.”
Perhaps it was the sound of his own voice, so strained and trembling, or perhaps it was the sound of the truth, but as soon as he’d spoken the words the tears Aragorn thought banished to his heart rose in his eyes.
Beside him Arwen slipped her arms around him, leaned close. “I have learned of him from you. I have heard the love and pride you held for him in your voice, that you yet still hold for him and every year on this day I wake to find you awash in guilt. Oh, my love, Boromir would not have it so. I know it.”
Aragorn, on hearing the name he could not speak earlier turned from it and pressed his face into his wife’s neck, her soft hair falling about his face. His breath feathered warm against her skin when he spoke. “I know it. But this day, this day more than any other...”
Arwen embraced her husband, then gently took him by his shoulders and pulled him away so as to look into his eyes, darkened with very real sadness and pain.
“Come with me,” and slipping her hand in his, she slid from the bed, pulling him with her. Aragorn followed as she led him to the leaded glass windows that glowed golden with the light of the newly risen sun. Arwen swung open the window and cool, crisp morning air wafted against Aragorn’s face and bare chest. He turned to her wonderingly, but Arwen again put her hands upon his shoulders and turned him back to face the window and the view.
Aragorn gazed out upon the city, his city, Boromir’s city, and found it beautiful, painted with bright golden sunlight as it was. Behind him Arwen pressed her body close, her arms slipping about him.
“He is with you, my love.” She took his hand and drew it up to his chest with her own, pressed his palm flat over his beating heart. “He is right here with you, and he is there...” Aragorn gazed out and knew she meant the White City that lay spread out below them. At last his tears freed themselves to slide down his cheeks as he looked down upon Boromir’s beloved home that was now his own.
Arwen’s arms tightened about him. “Remember not the guilt, remember him.”
Aragorn stared down upon the golden city and yes, he did remember. He remembered another pair of strong arms around him, he remembered a smile, and fair hair twined around his fingers. He remembered nights of undeniable heat and passion and mornings of sweet, lingering kisses. He remembered the pride, the arrogance, and the quarrels. He remembered the utter devotion to a city, to a brother and a father and the expansive kindness shown to two young hobbits. Aragorn remembered his own hands closing around willing flesh, and the beautiful sounds his Boromir had once given him.
His Boromir...
In Arwen’s arms Aragorn stood and shook and remembered, and long after the sun had ascended well into the clear blue sky and her golden light had faded into ordinary day, another ordinary morning he knew he could not ever again allow his guilt to cast a shadow upon the memory of the man that had loved him, that he had loved, that he had lost.
At length Aragorn turned and took Arwen in his arms. He kissed her brow and pulled her close and whispered his thanks.
“My Evenstar, you are right as ever. He would not want me to mourn him so.”
Arwen smiled, eyes bright. “Then do not, my husband. Remember him instead.”
Aragorn nodded and pulled Arwen tight against him. “I will,” he whispered, to his wife, to himself, to the green eyes he saw in his memory.
“I will, always.”