FIC: The Letter
Oct. 18th, 2020 01:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
archetIt's one of those beautiful weather days, sunny and warm with just enough cool breeze to open the doors and windows and it weirdly feels almost like an early spring day rather than an early fall day. I set a goal for myself of writing something this weekend and this qualifies, though I cheated, just a little. This started as (one of MANY!) unfinished fragments sitting in my fic file, and so I shook it out, reworked it mostly and am calling it done. One of my very few (if not the only?!) 'unrequited' Aragorn/Boromir.
Title: The Letter
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir (unrequited), Boromir/Faramir
Summary: A promise kept, a secret revealed and the love of a Son of Gondor shared.
Feedback: welcomed and appreciated
Crossposted: My LJ and A03
They went side by side, the Steward and the King, riding out through the bright, clear sunlight until they passed the boundary of the wood, and disappeared beyond its hem. None who saw them pass thought it strange that their lords sought a private moment alone. It was well known that the pair shared a great friendship, even beyond the bonds of allegiance of a Steward to his returned King.
Their course took them only a little way into the forest, just far enough to allow the illusion of privacy, as the tower guard lingered a short distance away, mounted and armed against any threat foolish enough to present itself. Even in times of peace, vigilance was warranted. For his part Faramir was happy to be alone with Aragorn. It was rare that such times found them thus, and today was a fine day to be riding forth, the air cool against his skin, the sun warm where it filtered down in drifting patches between the arms of the trees.
After a few minutes Aragorn raised a gloved hand, calling for a halt of their progress on the forest path. Faramir sidled his horse alongside Aragorn’s, curious as to the reason for their seclusion, but content to have the reason in Aragorn’s own good time. Caught in a net of sunshine, the circlet upon Aragorn’s brow glinted in the autumn light, a band of brightness among the sun dappled shade.
Despite himself, Faramir’s gaze drifted over the vambraces strapped about Aragorn’s forearms, and remained fixed upon them for a time. The familiar White Tree emblazoned there gleamed as vivid as it ever had, the bracers interlocked forever with the memory of his brother. Faramir’s fingers tightened around his reins and, with difficultly, he turned his gaze aside, drawing in several deep, steadying breaths.
“I wished to speak with you,” Aragorn began, drawing Faramir’s attention fully. “I should have done, long ago, but, I-I find this most difficult.”
Concerned, nudging his horse closer to Aragorn, Faramir tilted his head, studying his King. “My Lord? What troubles you?” In his saddle Aragorn seemed bent, as a sapling under the weight of too much snow.
“I can only hope you will forgive me,” Aragorn said, and removing his gloves he reached inside the embroidered tunic he wore, withdrawing a folded square of parchment. “I have kept this next to my heart for many leagues. I should have imparted it to you, long before now, but at last, I keep my promise.”
Beyond puzzled, Faramir reached out and took the letter. “Aragorn, I don’t understand-”
“It is from Boromir,” Aragorn forced out, and having said the words sat back in his saddle as if a great weigh was lifted from him. “He wrote this on the road, a few days before,” and he stumbled to a halt, and Faramir saw with alarm the gleam of tears in his King’s eyes.
“From my brother?” Faramir asked as he fumbled with the letter, his gloves suddenly thick, unbearably unwieldy. Carefully shucking them off, he held the letter in his bare hands, staring. “This is from my brother?” he repeated.
“It is,” Aragorn replied, and when Faramir would say more Aragorn raised his hand, forestalling further query. “Please, understand, I meant not to keep this secret for so long. I was wrong in doing so. After Sauron’s defeat, you were still healing, and I…I do not know what is in the letter. I swear to you, I have not read it.”
Looking down at the folded parchment, Faramir could see no wax seal, but only winkled folds keeping the contents private.
“I tell myself I kept it from you as not to upset your recovery, as I do not know what tidings lie within. I tell myself this, but, my friend the truth of it is this. It was from Boromir’s hand, one of the last things that passed from him to me, and so I have carried it, accepting from him this task of delivering it safely, and it had become a talisman of sorts. When I felt it next to my heart, I felt him, as well.”
Neither of them mentioned the braces Aragorn wore. By rights, these should have passed to Faramir, but he had never requested this, and he knew now he never would.
Aragorn’s mount, a spirited animal, impatient with the inactivity, pranced sideways. Gathering her in hand, the movement removed him from the patch of sunlight they stood in and into the shade. Now cloaked in the shadow of the trees, Aragorn seemed drained of all brilliance, his hair cast black, his eyes appearing more grey than blue.
Faramir studied his King, still holding the letter aloft. “I do not know what to say,” he finally managed.
“Say only that you understand, I meant no ill will, keeping this from you,” Aragorn asked, voice thin, stretched tight.
Startlement abating, Faramir questioned himself if he did, indeed, understand, but the questioning endured only an instant. Faramir knew the goodness of his King, and suddenly more than ever before he understood the deep sorrow he’d witnessed in Aragorn anytime Boromir had been mentioned. A deeply held sorrow for a man he’d known relatively a short time. “My lord, worry not. My friend. Of course I understand.”
At this Aragorn averted his face momentarily, eyes downcast, before lifting his chin, and with a tremulous smile, “I am grateful. I am sorry.”
Shaking his head, Faramir tucked the letter away safely, next to his heart in the same manner Aragorn had carried it. “There is no need to feel so. I knew Boromir better than anyone.” He had to pause for a moment, the words crowding his throat. “I knew him better than you, even, and I can say he would not have you sorry, Aragorn, of this I am certain.”
“You loved him,” Aragorn stated bluntly.
Back straightening, Faramir lifted his chin, nodded, unwilling and unable, to cloak the truth of his love and bond to Boromir behind the singular, accepted, brotherly affection. “I loved him in every way a man can love another. He was the love of my heart, of my body, of my very being.”
Having released the truth as blatantly in the open air as he ever had to anyone, except Boromir himself, Faramir felt a great lightness infuse him, as if he’d breathed in the first blush of Spring, and was renewed. He took another deep breath, relishing the feeling, and awaited the answer of his King.
“So it was you,” Aragorn whispered.
Faramir did not speak but could only look back, ensnared by his King’s deep seeing gaze, unsure as to Aragorn’s meaning. A soft smile, and eyes filled with sorrow, imparted the meaning behind Aragorn’s words more soundly than a thousand words, but Aragorn spoke all the same. “I loved him as well, you see.”
Faramir opened his mouth say forestall any further explanation, as he would not have his friend and King tear open wounds so sorely healed, but Aragorn only shook his head. “I wanted Boromir beyond imagining. I wanted him at my side, in all things. I said to him: I will bind myself to you, alongside the pledge to my Evenstar, if he could but return my feelings in same. He said to me, it would have honored him to do so, yet, he could offer naught beyond comfort and friendship, as he could not see his way clear to tender promises he’d already given to another.”
“He said he could not divide his heart in twain, for his heart lay in Gondor, and to Gondor he would ever return.”
Silence descended as the two men witnessed the pain of longing and loss in the other with new perspective.
“His bond lay with you, his brother.”
The words striking like an arrow to his heart, Faramir blinked back his own tears. “And I have pledged the same, and though my wife has brought a brightness and a hope into me beyond any I ever dreamed of, it is with my brother that my whole heart will forever lie.”
Nodding, understanding, Aragorn reached out, and laying his hand upon Faramir’s, said with a wavering smile, “You are blessed beyond the telling, and though I could not join myself to him in this bond as I wished, I am blessed to have loved, to still love, Boromir of Gondor.”
Covering Aragorn’s hand with his own, Faramir could only smile back through his tears, and squeeze his friend’s hand tight. At length they parted, and Aragorn turned aside his mount, guiding her back towards the track that lead back to Minas Tirith. He said, “Should you wish to linger a while, I will await you at the trailhead.”
His hand lifting to touch the place where the letter was stored, carefully next to his skin, Faramir guided his horse abreast with Aragorn’s. “I will ride back with you,” is all he said, and both men understood he was not ready to read his brother’s letter, just then.
A gentle nudge and Aragorn’s horse leapt forward, and to Faramir it seemed his King sat a bit taller in his saddle. In the wake of Aragorn’s departure Faramir somehow knew, what had passed between them that day was all Aragorn would ever say about his longing for Boromir. Faramir knew it was all either of them would ever say, for some things cannot be spoken, only felt.
Title: The Letter
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir (unrequited), Boromir/Faramir
Summary: A promise kept, a secret revealed and the love of a Son of Gondor shared.
Feedback: welcomed and appreciated
Crossposted: My LJ and A03
They went side by side, the Steward and the King, riding out through the bright, clear sunlight until they passed the boundary of the wood, and disappeared beyond its hem. None who saw them pass thought it strange that their lords sought a private moment alone. It was well known that the pair shared a great friendship, even beyond the bonds of allegiance of a Steward to his returned King.
Their course took them only a little way into the forest, just far enough to allow the illusion of privacy, as the tower guard lingered a short distance away, mounted and armed against any threat foolish enough to present itself. Even in times of peace, vigilance was warranted. For his part Faramir was happy to be alone with Aragorn. It was rare that such times found them thus, and today was a fine day to be riding forth, the air cool against his skin, the sun warm where it filtered down in drifting patches between the arms of the trees.
After a few minutes Aragorn raised a gloved hand, calling for a halt of their progress on the forest path. Faramir sidled his horse alongside Aragorn’s, curious as to the reason for their seclusion, but content to have the reason in Aragorn’s own good time. Caught in a net of sunshine, the circlet upon Aragorn’s brow glinted in the autumn light, a band of brightness among the sun dappled shade.
Despite himself, Faramir’s gaze drifted over the vambraces strapped about Aragorn’s forearms, and remained fixed upon them for a time. The familiar White Tree emblazoned there gleamed as vivid as it ever had, the bracers interlocked forever with the memory of his brother. Faramir’s fingers tightened around his reins and, with difficultly, he turned his gaze aside, drawing in several deep, steadying breaths.
“I wished to speak with you,” Aragorn began, drawing Faramir’s attention fully. “I should have done, long ago, but, I-I find this most difficult.”
Concerned, nudging his horse closer to Aragorn, Faramir tilted his head, studying his King. “My Lord? What troubles you?” In his saddle Aragorn seemed bent, as a sapling under the weight of too much snow.
“I can only hope you will forgive me,” Aragorn said, and removing his gloves he reached inside the embroidered tunic he wore, withdrawing a folded square of parchment. “I have kept this next to my heart for many leagues. I should have imparted it to you, long before now, but at last, I keep my promise.”
Beyond puzzled, Faramir reached out and took the letter. “Aragorn, I don’t understand-”
“It is from Boromir,” Aragorn forced out, and having said the words sat back in his saddle as if a great weigh was lifted from him. “He wrote this on the road, a few days before,” and he stumbled to a halt, and Faramir saw with alarm the gleam of tears in his King’s eyes.
“From my brother?” Faramir asked as he fumbled with the letter, his gloves suddenly thick, unbearably unwieldy. Carefully shucking them off, he held the letter in his bare hands, staring. “This is from my brother?” he repeated.
“It is,” Aragorn replied, and when Faramir would say more Aragorn raised his hand, forestalling further query. “Please, understand, I meant not to keep this secret for so long. I was wrong in doing so. After Sauron’s defeat, you were still healing, and I…I do not know what is in the letter. I swear to you, I have not read it.”
Looking down at the folded parchment, Faramir could see no wax seal, but only winkled folds keeping the contents private.
“I tell myself I kept it from you as not to upset your recovery, as I do not know what tidings lie within. I tell myself this, but, my friend the truth of it is this. It was from Boromir’s hand, one of the last things that passed from him to me, and so I have carried it, accepting from him this task of delivering it safely, and it had become a talisman of sorts. When I felt it next to my heart, I felt him, as well.”
Neither of them mentioned the braces Aragorn wore. By rights, these should have passed to Faramir, but he had never requested this, and he knew now he never would.
Aragorn’s mount, a spirited animal, impatient with the inactivity, pranced sideways. Gathering her in hand, the movement removed him from the patch of sunlight they stood in and into the shade. Now cloaked in the shadow of the trees, Aragorn seemed drained of all brilliance, his hair cast black, his eyes appearing more grey than blue.
Faramir studied his King, still holding the letter aloft. “I do not know what to say,” he finally managed.
“Say only that you understand, I meant no ill will, keeping this from you,” Aragorn asked, voice thin, stretched tight.
Startlement abating, Faramir questioned himself if he did, indeed, understand, but the questioning endured only an instant. Faramir knew the goodness of his King, and suddenly more than ever before he understood the deep sorrow he’d witnessed in Aragorn anytime Boromir had been mentioned. A deeply held sorrow for a man he’d known relatively a short time. “My lord, worry not. My friend. Of course I understand.”
At this Aragorn averted his face momentarily, eyes downcast, before lifting his chin, and with a tremulous smile, “I am grateful. I am sorry.”
Shaking his head, Faramir tucked the letter away safely, next to his heart in the same manner Aragorn had carried it. “There is no need to feel so. I knew Boromir better than anyone.” He had to pause for a moment, the words crowding his throat. “I knew him better than you, even, and I can say he would not have you sorry, Aragorn, of this I am certain.”
“You loved him,” Aragorn stated bluntly.
Back straightening, Faramir lifted his chin, nodded, unwilling and unable, to cloak the truth of his love and bond to Boromir behind the singular, accepted, brotherly affection. “I loved him in every way a man can love another. He was the love of my heart, of my body, of my very being.”
Having released the truth as blatantly in the open air as he ever had to anyone, except Boromir himself, Faramir felt a great lightness infuse him, as if he’d breathed in the first blush of Spring, and was renewed. He took another deep breath, relishing the feeling, and awaited the answer of his King.
“So it was you,” Aragorn whispered.
Faramir did not speak but could only look back, ensnared by his King’s deep seeing gaze, unsure as to Aragorn’s meaning. A soft smile, and eyes filled with sorrow, imparted the meaning behind Aragorn’s words more soundly than a thousand words, but Aragorn spoke all the same. “I loved him as well, you see.”
Faramir opened his mouth say forestall any further explanation, as he would not have his friend and King tear open wounds so sorely healed, but Aragorn only shook his head. “I wanted Boromir beyond imagining. I wanted him at my side, in all things. I said to him: I will bind myself to you, alongside the pledge to my Evenstar, if he could but return my feelings in same. He said to me, it would have honored him to do so, yet, he could offer naught beyond comfort and friendship, as he could not see his way clear to tender promises he’d already given to another.”
“He said he could not divide his heart in twain, for his heart lay in Gondor, and to Gondor he would ever return.”
Silence descended as the two men witnessed the pain of longing and loss in the other with new perspective.
“His bond lay with you, his brother.”
The words striking like an arrow to his heart, Faramir blinked back his own tears. “And I have pledged the same, and though my wife has brought a brightness and a hope into me beyond any I ever dreamed of, it is with my brother that my whole heart will forever lie.”
Nodding, understanding, Aragorn reached out, and laying his hand upon Faramir’s, said with a wavering smile, “You are blessed beyond the telling, and though I could not join myself to him in this bond as I wished, I am blessed to have loved, to still love, Boromir of Gondor.”
Covering Aragorn’s hand with his own, Faramir could only smile back through his tears, and squeeze his friend’s hand tight. At length they parted, and Aragorn turned aside his mount, guiding her back towards the track that lead back to Minas Tirith. He said, “Should you wish to linger a while, I will await you at the trailhead.”
His hand lifting to touch the place where the letter was stored, carefully next to his skin, Faramir guided his horse abreast with Aragorn’s. “I will ride back with you,” is all he said, and both men understood he was not ready to read his brother’s letter, just then.
A gentle nudge and Aragorn’s horse leapt forward, and to Faramir it seemed his King sat a bit taller in his saddle. In the wake of Aragorn’s departure Faramir somehow knew, what had passed between them that day was all Aragorn would ever say about his longing for Boromir. Faramir knew it was all either of them would ever say, for some things cannot be spoken, only felt.
