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alex_quine: "Trust" (Aragorn/Boromir; G)
Dec. 25th, 2011 01:10 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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lotr_sesaTitle: Trust
Author:empy
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Rating: G
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the Tolkien Estate. No infringement is intended and no money made.
Notes: written foralex_quine for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
lotr_sesa 2011.
Thanks: to my sterling co-modcaras_galadhon and to littlemimm for the beta.
* * *
The icy winds howled over the plains like restless wolves, chasing the clouds toward the mountains and forcing the Fellowship to stop and seek shelter even before day had dawned. As soon as they had left the Road by the Ford of Bruinen, the weather had turned against them. The warmth and light of Rivendell felt like a distant dream.
Even though they were the only living thing on the plains, save some startled hares, they still moved with care and as silently as they could. In this enforced silence, it seemed to Boromir that his hearing grew sharper. Each word, spoken or whispered, stood out against the mournful sound of the wind.
"I question his judgement, that is all." Aragorn's voice was hushed, barely loud enough for Boromir to hear even though the silence around them was nearly palpable. "I think that perhaps it would have been more prudent to se--"
"That choice is made and cannot be unmade," Gandalf cut in. "What would you do? Send him back?"
Boromir shifted where he sat, brushing away imagined crumbs from his surcoat. He sat with his back to Gandalf and Aragorn, and it was clear that they had assumed he would not be able to hear them talking. Talking about him, no doubt. That much was clear to him.
Aragorn's judgement smarted, not in the least because he was the rightful heir to the throne of Gondor and as such, of much higher standing than Boromir would ever be. To hear him question Boromir's presence was a sharp blow. It had been humiliating enough to have Aragorn rebuke him at the Council when he had spoken of how Gondor's allies had little help to offer, but to realize that Aragorn still doubted him despite speaking for him when the Fellowship was formed was worse.
All the way from Rivendell to Hollin, he had tried to put his finger on why Aragorn unsettled him so. This unease had little to do with the fact that Aragorn's newly-revealed lineage had shocked him, and more to do with the curious niggling feeling that he had seen Aragorn before. There was something familiar about the tall Ranger, but the memory was a deep-seated one, clouded over time. The more he scrutinized Aragorn, the more he found that the need to find out why Aragorn was so familiar was overshadowed by other matters. A whisper of shame ran through his mind as he fought to scatter the unruly thoughts. No. His mind should be on the perilous journey ahead, on getting back to Minas Tirith, and yet his thoughts turned to matters far more base.
Aragorn had been travel-worn when Boromir had first seen him, and he had the look of a man toughened by passing years, but age did not weigh him in the way it might have burdened a lesser man. He did not seem regal, true, but there was a sharpness to his features that could have been counted handsome. "Little do I resemble the figures of Elendil and Isildur as they stand carven in their majesty in the halls of Denethor," he had said at the Council, and that much was true, Boromir thought. Those faces, blank and hewn out of cold stone, had always seemed strange to him, stern and unforgiving. Aragorn's face, with its subtle fan of lines at the corners of his eyes and its sharp angles, was unmistakeably that of a man, not that of an ideal. And that, Boromir thought to himself, was precisely why he should not find it so attractive. To desire an ideal was one thing, and this... this was quite another. Here, out on the wide plains, they huddled close and walked close, and the proximity only made matters worse.
He shook his head, focusing on the cloudy sky and the line of mountains in the distance. Better for him to keep his mind on the journey ahead. Better for him not to dwell overmuch on why his thoughts centered on Aragorn time and again.
Aragorn scarcely slept, ever on his guard with an unfamiliar company around him. He had come to recognize each member by sound alone, by their tread and their movements as they sat watch. Pippin had a habit of restlessly toying with the buttons on his waistcoat, and Gimli would, perhaps unconsciously, tap his fingers gently on the stones he preferred to lean against. He had expected Boromir to be more restless, but the Gondorian sat still as a statue.
In the wan light of the setting sun, which seemed as pale and washed out as the withering grass, the jagged edge of the mountains up ahead looked like the sharp teeth of some monstrous jaw.
Taking care to make his steps soundless, a habit he would never be able to shake, Aragorn walked over to Boromir. "It will not be long before we reach the foot of the mountains," he said softly.
Boromir started, seeming shaken out of a reverie. "If we indeed reach them before the black-feathered spies carry report of our presence to their fell masters." He rose, stretching his aching joints. "Perhaps you were right," he muttered, and Aragorn was unsure whether the words were intended for him. "Perhaps it would have been more prudent to send my brother. He has, after all, far more experience when it comes to passing unseen, and furthermore the aid of the Long Sight." The bitter edge of his words surprised Aragorn, and then the realization struck him. Boromir must have overheard the conversation he had had with Gandalf.
He weighed his words before replying. "And perhaps I was speaking of another matter entirely." He squeezed Boromir's shoulder gently, feeling Boromir tense up. "I have not yet had cause to regret my choice."
"Not yet, you say. How much trust do you place in me?"
"Enough. All I can give you is my word, Boromir, but I ask that you believe me."
Boromir met his gaze calmly, but his jaw was set. He gave a curt nod, as though not trusting his voice to carry, and walked off to join the rest of the Fellowship around the small fire they had risked building to stave off the worst chill.
Caradhras proved a formidable obstacle, and it took effort for Boromir to sound bold and fearless when he offered to force a path through the snow that threatened to drown them. In truth, he was chilled to the bone and close to despair. The fatigue that had beset him all the way up the mountain-path seemed a leaden cloak that nearly made him stoop, but he was determined not to show weakness in front of Aragorn.
At first, the snow reached him to mid-thigh, but soon the drifts grew higher, and as he waded in front, he had to use all of his strength to advance.
Soon the snow reached his shoulders, and the air was sharp to breathe as he toiled on. Behind him, Aragorn trudged silently, occasionally walking side by side with him to shift a particularly dense drift. Words were too great an effort, and while it should have been a welcome silence, it merely made his agitation worse.
After toiling for what seemed like hours, they came up against a solid wall of snow, a glittering white reach of packed snow that stood higher than a man. Both of them leaned against the snowdrift with all their strength, seeking to shift it. In the wan light, their breath curled like smoke in the air.
"It is no use," breathed Boromir. "My strength wanes while the snow grows no less."
The furrow was cramped and narrow, forcing them close, and in the strange hush Boromir could hear his own breathing clearly. Aragorn looked up at him from under rimed eyebrows, eyes clear and sharp, and Boromir felt like squirming. There was something about Aragorn's gaze that cut too deep, threatened to shear away the careful layers of feigned indifference that Boromir had spun.
The snow around them shifted and creaked, but Boromir found he could barely hear it over the rushing of blood in his ears. His mind was a whirling confused mass, wounded pride mixing with fear and confusion. This ragged Ranger, who had led them up onto the perilous slopes of Caradhras, was Isildur's heir and had the right to return to Gondor. Had the right to return and rule.
The silence deepened, becoming almost tangible. Aragorn gazed steadily at him, but there was no challenge in the gaze, merely the sharp scrutiny that made him, for a fleeting moment, fear that Aragorn could read his thoughts. That he might reach into Boromir's mind and pluck out not only the resentment and the fear but also the quick flickers of something far more unsettling and base. Or perhaps he already had.
He drew in a deep breath, intent on saying something to shatter the oppressive silence rather than just looking away, but the words withered on his tongue as Aragorn leaned in close, setting his hands on Boromir's shoulders. Then, without preamble or explanation, Aragorn closed the distance between them and kissed him.
The roar in his ears grew harsher for a second, and he found himself unable to either move or reciprocate. Aragorn broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against Boromir's for a brief second before speaking.
"You asked me how much trust I placed in you. My answer is still the same. Enough. Now I ask you to trust me."
[END]
Author:
empyPairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Rating: G
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the Tolkien Estate. No infringement is intended and no money made.
Notes: written for
alex_quine for lotr_sesa 2011.Thanks: to my sterling co-mod
caras_galadhon and to littlemimm for the beta.* * *
The icy winds howled over the plains like restless wolves, chasing the clouds toward the mountains and forcing the Fellowship to stop and seek shelter even before day had dawned. As soon as they had left the Road by the Ford of Bruinen, the weather had turned against them. The warmth and light of Rivendell felt like a distant dream.
Even though they were the only living thing on the plains, save some startled hares, they still moved with care and as silently as they could. In this enforced silence, it seemed to Boromir that his hearing grew sharper. Each word, spoken or whispered, stood out against the mournful sound of the wind.
"I question his judgement, that is all." Aragorn's voice was hushed, barely loud enough for Boromir to hear even though the silence around them was nearly palpable. "I think that perhaps it would have been more prudent to se--"
"That choice is made and cannot be unmade," Gandalf cut in. "What would you do? Send him back?"
Boromir shifted where he sat, brushing away imagined crumbs from his surcoat. He sat with his back to Gandalf and Aragorn, and it was clear that they had assumed he would not be able to hear them talking. Talking about him, no doubt. That much was clear to him.
Aragorn's judgement smarted, not in the least because he was the rightful heir to the throne of Gondor and as such, of much higher standing than Boromir would ever be. To hear him question Boromir's presence was a sharp blow. It had been humiliating enough to have Aragorn rebuke him at the Council when he had spoken of how Gondor's allies had little help to offer, but to realize that Aragorn still doubted him despite speaking for him when the Fellowship was formed was worse.
All the way from Rivendell to Hollin, he had tried to put his finger on why Aragorn unsettled him so. This unease had little to do with the fact that Aragorn's newly-revealed lineage had shocked him, and more to do with the curious niggling feeling that he had seen Aragorn before. There was something familiar about the tall Ranger, but the memory was a deep-seated one, clouded over time. The more he scrutinized Aragorn, the more he found that the need to find out why Aragorn was so familiar was overshadowed by other matters. A whisper of shame ran through his mind as he fought to scatter the unruly thoughts. No. His mind should be on the perilous journey ahead, on getting back to Minas Tirith, and yet his thoughts turned to matters far more base.
Aragorn had been travel-worn when Boromir had first seen him, and he had the look of a man toughened by passing years, but age did not weigh him in the way it might have burdened a lesser man. He did not seem regal, true, but there was a sharpness to his features that could have been counted handsome. "Little do I resemble the figures of Elendil and Isildur as they stand carven in their majesty in the halls of Denethor," he had said at the Council, and that much was true, Boromir thought. Those faces, blank and hewn out of cold stone, had always seemed strange to him, stern and unforgiving. Aragorn's face, with its subtle fan of lines at the corners of his eyes and its sharp angles, was unmistakeably that of a man, not that of an ideal. And that, Boromir thought to himself, was precisely why he should not find it so attractive. To desire an ideal was one thing, and this... this was quite another. Here, out on the wide plains, they huddled close and walked close, and the proximity only made matters worse.
He shook his head, focusing on the cloudy sky and the line of mountains in the distance. Better for him to keep his mind on the journey ahead. Better for him not to dwell overmuch on why his thoughts centered on Aragorn time and again.
Aragorn scarcely slept, ever on his guard with an unfamiliar company around him. He had come to recognize each member by sound alone, by their tread and their movements as they sat watch. Pippin had a habit of restlessly toying with the buttons on his waistcoat, and Gimli would, perhaps unconsciously, tap his fingers gently on the stones he preferred to lean against. He had expected Boromir to be more restless, but the Gondorian sat still as a statue.
In the wan light of the setting sun, which seemed as pale and washed out as the withering grass, the jagged edge of the mountains up ahead looked like the sharp teeth of some monstrous jaw.
Taking care to make his steps soundless, a habit he would never be able to shake, Aragorn walked over to Boromir. "It will not be long before we reach the foot of the mountains," he said softly.
Boromir started, seeming shaken out of a reverie. "If we indeed reach them before the black-feathered spies carry report of our presence to their fell masters." He rose, stretching his aching joints. "Perhaps you were right," he muttered, and Aragorn was unsure whether the words were intended for him. "Perhaps it would have been more prudent to send my brother. He has, after all, far more experience when it comes to passing unseen, and furthermore the aid of the Long Sight." The bitter edge of his words surprised Aragorn, and then the realization struck him. Boromir must have overheard the conversation he had had with Gandalf.
He weighed his words before replying. "And perhaps I was speaking of another matter entirely." He squeezed Boromir's shoulder gently, feeling Boromir tense up. "I have not yet had cause to regret my choice."
"Not yet, you say. How much trust do you place in me?"
"Enough. All I can give you is my word, Boromir, but I ask that you believe me."
Boromir met his gaze calmly, but his jaw was set. He gave a curt nod, as though not trusting his voice to carry, and walked off to join the rest of the Fellowship around the small fire they had risked building to stave off the worst chill.
Caradhras proved a formidable obstacle, and it took effort for Boromir to sound bold and fearless when he offered to force a path through the snow that threatened to drown them. In truth, he was chilled to the bone and close to despair. The fatigue that had beset him all the way up the mountain-path seemed a leaden cloak that nearly made him stoop, but he was determined not to show weakness in front of Aragorn.
At first, the snow reached him to mid-thigh, but soon the drifts grew higher, and as he waded in front, he had to use all of his strength to advance.
Soon the snow reached his shoulders, and the air was sharp to breathe as he toiled on. Behind him, Aragorn trudged silently, occasionally walking side by side with him to shift a particularly dense drift. Words were too great an effort, and while it should have been a welcome silence, it merely made his agitation worse.
After toiling for what seemed like hours, they came up against a solid wall of snow, a glittering white reach of packed snow that stood higher than a man. Both of them leaned against the snowdrift with all their strength, seeking to shift it. In the wan light, their breath curled like smoke in the air.
"It is no use," breathed Boromir. "My strength wanes while the snow grows no less."
The furrow was cramped and narrow, forcing them close, and in the strange hush Boromir could hear his own breathing clearly. Aragorn looked up at him from under rimed eyebrows, eyes clear and sharp, and Boromir felt like squirming. There was something about Aragorn's gaze that cut too deep, threatened to shear away the careful layers of feigned indifference that Boromir had spun.
The snow around them shifted and creaked, but Boromir found he could barely hear it over the rushing of blood in his ears. His mind was a whirling confused mass, wounded pride mixing with fear and confusion. This ragged Ranger, who had led them up onto the perilous slopes of Caradhras, was Isildur's heir and had the right to return to Gondor. Had the right to return and rule.
The silence deepened, becoming almost tangible. Aragorn gazed steadily at him, but there was no challenge in the gaze, merely the sharp scrutiny that made him, for a fleeting moment, fear that Aragorn could read his thoughts. That he might reach into Boromir's mind and pluck out not only the resentment and the fear but also the quick flickers of something far more unsettling and base. Or perhaps he already had.
He drew in a deep breath, intent on saying something to shatter the oppressive silence rather than just looking away, but the words withered on his tongue as Aragorn leaned in close, setting his hands on Boromir's shoulders. Then, without preamble or explanation, Aragorn closed the distance between them and kissed him.
The roar in his ears grew harsher for a second, and he found himself unable to either move or reciprocate. Aragorn broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against Boromir's for a brief second before speaking.
"You asked me how much trust I placed in you. My answer is still the same. Enough. Now I ask you to trust me."
[END]
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no subject
Date: 2011-12-25 12:40 am (UTC)This is a fine gift, mapping the man's confusion with the physical challenges...he volunteers to lead, to clear the way but finds himself brought to a standstill and pressed against what it is he fears only to be confounded and challenged anew. I especially like the way that not all his questions get answers at this time, in particular his feeling that he has met Aragorn before. Wonderfully atmospheric, thankyou very much!
no subject
Date: 2012-01-27 06:56 pm (UTC)I hadn't quite intended to take them up into the mountains, but somehow that's where they ended up, as is the way with stories.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-25 10:35 am (UTC)Great read thank you for sharing with us.
no subject
Date: 2012-01-27 06:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-25 03:35 pm (UTC)Sweetly subtle, singing songs for future ears.
Gracias.
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Date: 2012-01-27 06:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-27 08:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-27 06:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-29 05:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-27 06:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-04 07:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-27 07:00 pm (UTC)