eachdraidhean (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
eachdraidhean) wrote2005-06-12 01:23 am
eachdraidhean) wrote2005-06-12 01:23 am
Angsty Smut Fic - Into The West A/B NC-17
Title: Into the West
Pairing: A/B
Summary: What if Boromir survived Amon Hen?
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Characters and places not mine - they belong to J. R. R. Tolkien & New Line. Song lyrics belong to Howard Shore
Notes: Also posted to "Rugbytackle", "Sons of Gondor" and "Bean Squee"
Beta: not beta-ed
Feedback: Would love it!
Archive: Rugbytackle. Anyone else, just ask first
What if Boromir survived Amon Hen?
Contains intense smut and intense angst.
Inspired in part by the "What if" drabbles by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
seleneheart here and cruisedirector here and here
and the track "Into the West from the ROTK soundtrack.
Also posted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
rugbytackle, sons_of_gondor and bean_squee.
Disclaimer: Characters and places not mine - they belong to J. R. R. Tolkien & New Line. Song lyrics belong to Howard Shore
Into the West
Two years to the day since Boromir tried to take the ring from Frodo, he went missing. Again. An agitation akin to his behaviour on the road as they had neared Amon Hen had alerted Aragorn to his distress, and he had made sure that Faramir, Eowyn and Beregond were also close by, but Boromir had managed to evade them all. Aragorn strode through the citadel, hoping the people he passed would not notice the distraction behind his smiles of greeting. He had been through most rooms in the palace, most of Boromir's haunts, but the man himself had remained elusive. He knew Faramir was searching places in the lower levels, but he was certain Boromir was still here.
As he approached the throne room, he saw Beregond hurrying towards him. Faramir's trusted guard spoke without ceremony.
“My lord Boromir was seen entering the tower. The young guard who saw him was reluctant to approach him, as he appeared, ahh … determined in his course of action.”
Aragorn nodded. He had seen that look on Boromir's face, and knew exactly why the young Guard would have been reluctant to stop the enraged Steward. The tower had been off limits to all but Aragorn since Denethor's death, and Boromir was well aware of this.
“Find Faramir, Beregond, and tell him where we are. He's searching the lower levels.”
Beregond nodded his assent, and hurried off, as Aragorn broke into a run towards the tower.
High in the white tower, in the chamber that his father had used to conceal the Palantir, Boromir sat on an open window ledge with his knees drawn up, arms hugging them to his chest, rocking backwards and forwards. His eyes, wide open, were filled with despair. Images haunted him, the Eye, which he knew had been vanquished, sought him out, focusing all it’s hate and malice on him. Sauron’s voice echoed through his head drowning out all thoughts of reason that could have kept him sane.
Aragorn burst through the door, coming to an abrupt halt as he saw how precariously Boromir was perched on the ledge. He approached Boromir slowly, knelt before him and put his hand on his arm, ready to pull him back, should he lean out too far.
“He is gone, Boromir. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
Boromir laughed, a harsh unnatural sound. A chill slipped down Aragorn's spine, and he tightened his grip. One quick movement pulled Boromir to the floor, away from the open window. Aragorn held him close, as sobs now wracked Boromir's body. It broke Aragorn's heart to see him like this, and with each passing year the effects of this date worsened. His bright Steward, his friend, his one time lover was being torn apart. Each year it took him longer to recover, and Aragorn had tried all he knew, but was powerless to stop it.
“I know that, I know that.” Boromir still rocked backwards and forwards against Aragorn's chest. “But why can I still feel him? Why can I still hear his words in my head? Why does it still feel as if he has his hand around my heart?”
He clung to Aragorn, and Aragorn kissed his brow. Slowly, Boromir calmed, melting into the arms around him, but his next words chilled Aragorn to the bone.
“Perhaps it would have been better if I had died at Amon Hen.”
“No!” Aragorn gasped, pushing Boromir away just enough to grab him by the shoulders, and look into his eyes, shocked at the depth of misery he found there. “No, Boromir.”
He remembered crashing into the clearing, and knocking the large Uruk Hai off it’s feet. Then Boromir had joined him in defeating it. Later, he had pulled the arrow from Boromir's shoulder, as his friend confessed his betrayal of Frodo.
The distance that had grown between them in the years since the war saddened Aragorn. There were times when all he wanted was to sit at Boromir's side as they both looked out over the Pelennor, and rest his head on his shoulder. And there were times when he wanted more.
Guilt stabbed through Aragorn as he realised that holding Boromir when he was like this was not only beneficial to his friend, but the only time he could get this close to him. Even as he comforted Boromir, part of him relished the feel of his hard, strong body in his arms.
Moments later, Aragorn heard Faramir's footsteps in the stairs behind them, and together, they got Boromir back to his room. Aragorn administered a strong sleeping draught, then motioned for Faramir to follow him from the room.
“This can’t go on. We need to talk to Gandalf.”
Faramir nodded, then reached out and put his hand on Aragorn's shoulder.
“Whatever it takes.”
Aragorn strode down the corridor, as Faramir went back into the room to tend to his brother.
Aragorn and Boromir set out from Minas Tirith one bright morning. Aragorn told Boromir that he wanted his company on a journey to see Gandalf one last time, as the wizard was sailing on the last ship to leave from the Grey Havens. It would also give them a chance to be reunited with the hobbits, as they too were meeting up with Gandalf
This had lifted Boromir's spirits, and he was in good humour as they rode, looking forward to seeing Merry and Pippin again. They travelled across country for a few days, making camp wherever they happened to be when the sun left the sky. They talked companionably each night until one of them became too tired, and then lay down to sleep, bedrolls always far enough apart, Aragorn noticed, so that there was no chance of rolling into one another in the night.
Aragorn had begun to think that Boromir had indeed lost all feeling for him, but needed to know. The next morning, he suggested to Boromir that they spend that night at an inn that was not far, as he was not used to sleeping outdoors any more.
Boromir grinned at him, but agreed, and they arrived at the inn having ridden through a rainstorm. They took care of the horses, and then shared a pleasant meal while listening to the local gossip of the inn’s patrons.
Later, in the large room they had been given, Boromir sat cross-legged on a rug in front of the roaring fire, staring into the flames. After making use of the bath that had been provided for them by the innkeeper, he had wrapped himself in a large towel, and was now drying himself by the fire.
Freshly washed blonde hair rippled over his shoulders, and Aragorn found it hard to breath as he looked at his former lover, his Steward. He wondered what Boromir’s reaction would be when he touched him. Would he pull away, as Aragorn feared, or would he return to gesture, and more. Aragorn shuddered at the thought.
Aragorn, also fresh from a bath, poured out two glasses of wine, handing one to Boromir before joining him on the rug. He sat down behind him, and pulled his friend back against his chest. The smell of warm, freshly washed skin, Boromir's skin, was intoxicating. Boromir relaxed back against him, and he let out a sigh of relief. They sat for a while, Aragorn unwilling to disturb the companionable silence they shared, then Boromir started to speak.
“Do you remember the day in the rocks? We had been teaching Merry and Pippin how to use their swords, and then we had to hide beneath the overhangs?”
Aragorn's free arm wrapped itself around Boromir, who began to move his hand over it, his fingers tracing muscle beneath skin. Aragorn’s hold on him tightened.
“I remember,” he murmured into Boromir's hair.
“That night we took watch together, and sat on the edge of camp talking.”
Aragorn smiled at the memory.
“We had talked for most of the night, then you leaned closer and kissed me …”
“I thought you were going to hit me, the look on your face …”
They both laughed, memories and distance opening up something between them that had been closed by circumstance.
“For a moment I thought I was going to hit you …”
“… but you kissed me back …”
“… and then you pulled us off that rock …”
“… out of sight of the camp …”
“… I’m sure Legolas heard everything, the noise you were making …”
Aragorn’s laughter filled the room.
“The noise I was making!!”
Then they were both roaring with laughter, and Aragorn felt as if this was the first time they had truly relaxed in each other's company for years. As the laughter subsided, wine forgotten, Boromir twisted round to face Aragorn, pulling away until he was kneeling opposite him. Aragorn took a breath to speak, but before he had the chance, Boromir put his fingers gently over Aragorn's lips, and shook his head.
“There's so much we need to say to one another, I know, but not now, not tonight.”
The plea in Boromir's eyes was irresistible, and Aragorn simply nodded, thinking that perhaps they could wait one more night. He smiled at Boromir, who smiled back, then reached out, his hand snaking around Aragorn's neck, grasping his hair, pulling him forwards. Then he was arching to meet the body that he had denied himself for so long. Memories of their time together paled as Boromir claimed Aragorn's lips, tongue slipping between them, arrogantly demanding entrance that he knew would not be denied. Boromir's hold on him tightened, his free hand falling on Aragorn's hip, loosening his towel, then moving round to his lower back, forcefully pulling him even closer. Aragorn's arms wrapped themselves around Boromir's neck, and he luxuriated in the feel of hot skin on hot skin.
Boromir broke contact and stood, his towel falling to the ground as he pulled Aragorn to his feet and towards the larger of the two beds. Aragorn felt almost overwhelmed by the passion that clearly stirred in Boromir as he pushed him down on the bed, then stood, looking at him, naked hunger burning in his eyes. Aragorn felt something akin to fear shiver it's way down his spine, then Boromir was on him. Boromir forced his tongue into Aragorn's mouth, and Aragorn suckled on it as Boromir's hands roamed his body. He felt Boromir part his thighs so he could kneel between them, then his head was pulled over to one side by his hair, and Boromir was licking his way down Aragorn's neck. He moved hastily downwards, biting nipples and sucking on tender flesh, until he reached his goal.
He took the head of Aragorn's cock into his mouth, and with a restraint Aragorn had not expected, gently sucked on it, circling it with his tongue. Aragorn was momentarily shocked into immobility, then his hands were buried in blonde hair, and his body arched off the bed. Boromir reached up and pushed him back down, teasing a nipple as he did so. Aragorn writhed, his body pleading for more, his mind oblivious to anything other than Boromir's mouth. Slowly, Boromir teased him, taking his cock deeper into his mouth a little at a time, pausing now and again to lazily lick the head. After an agonisingly long time, or so it seemed to Aragorn, Boromir had him buried deep in his throat. He held him there for a moment, gently sucking, then pulled all the way off.
The body below him stilled, and Aragorn lifted his head just enough to stare into wicked green eyes. As Aragorn watched, Boromir stuck his fingers in his mouth coating them with saliva then, not taking his eyes from Aragorn’s he eased Aragorn's cock back into his mouth. Aragorn felt Boromir's wet fingers ease their way between his cheeks, and his breath came in short bursts as he waited for Boromir to stop teasing. Then Boromir's fingers opened him, easing inside him, moving slowly at first, then faster, harder, and then he swallowed around Aragorn's cock. Aragorn's eyes went wide, and he lost sight of Boromir as his head slammed back against the pillows and he came, howling, as Boromir milked him, lapping up every drop as if he were quenching his thirst.
Gently, he removed his fingers, and moved up the bed to lie beside his lover. Aragorn whimpered as Boromir took him in his arms, stroking his skin. Boromir kissed him, long and slow, tasting his mouth as his hands lost themselves in his hair. Lazily, he turned Aragorn over to lie on his belly. He knew from experience how sensitive Aragorn's skin would be now, and moved his hands firmly over Aragorn's back and arms, enjoying every moan, groan, and sensuous movement that his stroking caused.
He gradually moved down Aragorn's back, over his buttocks, and down his legs, paying particular attention to the backs of his knees. He now followed his hands with his mouth; suckling on this sensitive flesh hard enough to leave bruises behind, and held Aragorn steady as he thrashed on the bed. Slowly he moved upwards, easing Aragorn's legs apart, touching and kissing and licking his way up his inner thighs. Aragorn felt Boromir's hands parting strong muscles, then he jumped and cried out as Boromir's tongue found its prize, lapping at the tight ring of muscle before pushing inside. Boromir had to grab Aragorn's hips to keep him still, as Aragorn buried his face in the pillows beneath him, and screamed. Again and again, Boromir pushed his tongue deep, until Aragorn went limp below him, tremors coursing through him as senses overloaded.
Reaching down under the bed, Boromir reluctantly left his ministrations to find the bottle of oil he had left there earlier. Quickly, he covered his cock, and pulled Aragorn back towards him until he was on his knees. He eased himself inside his lover, shuddering as looked down to watch his cock enter Aragorn again after so long, and gave himself up to the heat he had longed for. Aragorn's panting increased, and Boromir could hold back no longer. He pulled out, grabbed Aragorn's hips and slammed back in. Aragorn's head snapped back, and his dark hair whipped across his shoulders. Boromir caught hold of his hair, and pulled, forcing Aragorn to keep his back hollowed as Boromir pounded into him. Boromir pulled Aragorn's head to one side, and licked hot skin over the taut sinews of his neck. Then he bit down, and Aragorn's world disappeared. He felt claimed, owned. This was what he wanted, what he had needed. And when Boromir reached down with his free hand and touched his cock, his body jack-knifed, come spraying over the bed below him. He cried out again and again as Boromir lost control, thrusting harder and harder until he came, forcing Aragorn down onto the bed. Aragorn felt the liquid heat of Boromir's seed deep inside him and let out a ragged sigh.
They both lay still for a while, luxuriating in the feel of one another.
Aragorn manoeuvred Boromir off him, and pulled a blanket over him as they clung to each other and he felt the tremors that pulsed through Boromir lessen.
“I missed you.” Boromir whispered as he held Aragorn close.
“I missed you, too.” Aragorn stroked Boromir's hair. “She didn't mind, you knew that. Why did you keep me at arms length all this time?”
“I know she didn't mind,” Boromir said softly, “but I did.”
“What do you mean?” Aragorn pushed away a little so he could sit up and look at Boromir.
“I didn’t want to share you.”
It felt so good to finally be able to tell Aragorn how he felt.
“I couldn't bear the thought of you being with her night after night, and coming to me in secret, only when you could escape the rest of your life. I wanted to be part of you life, in a way I could never have been. So I decided that I would distance myself from you, as much as a Steward can be distanced from his King, and hoped it would lessen the pain.”
“Did it?”
Boromir hung his head.
“No, not much. I felt so lost without you to anchor me down. I know that I am your Steward, but sometimes I feel like I should be somewhere else, that I’ve forgotten to do something important. And then there are the days when …”
He sighed, but when he lifted his head, his eyes were shining.
“But here … now …. I decided that this trip would be the last chance to let you know how I still felt, and I hoped you felt the same.”
He smiled.
“I guess you do.”
“You know I do, and here I was thinking I would have to seduce you!”
They both laughed softly, then Aragorn leant towards Boromir, kissed him and pulled his lover’s head down to rest on his chest.
“Sleep now. We'll talk in the morning.”
Aragorn felt Boromir’s head nod, and held him close, letting sleep take them.
Over the next weeks, as they travelled on towards their goal, they talked of things that mattered, things that should not have been left unsaid, and each night, they slept curled around one another after sating their hunger for more than just food.
Boromir kissed Aragorn hungrily, but this time Aragorn grasped a handful of Boromir’s hair, and slowly pushed him to his knees. Boromir raised his eyes to look at Aragorn, his breathing shallow, his eyes calm, accepting.
“My King.”
His words took Aragorn’s breath away. His words made Aragorn need to see him come apart.
Holding Boromir's hair with one hand, Aragorn unlaced his own leggings with the other, and eased out his already swollen cock. He watched as Boromir's eyes were drawn to it, and pushed his head towards it until he could feel Boromir's breath on his skin.
“Taste me.”
Boromir licked Aragorn's cock from base to tip, suckling at the moisture that was already leaking from the slit. Boromir opened his mouth wide, and Aragorn pushed his head down until his cock touched the back of Boromir's throat, then Boromir's mouth closed around it, sucking gently, causing waves of pleasure to rock Aragorn as he stood.
Still using his hair, Aragorn stilled his head, and slowly raised him to his feet, leading him to where their bedrolls lay. He sat down and pulled Boromir down after him, his grey eyes locked with Boromir's green. With the tip of his finger, he traced the outline of Boromir's lips, and Boromir moaned. Aragorn leaned forward and kissed him, slowly, now tracing his lips with his tongue, then parting Boromir's lips and moving his tongue in and out of Boromir's mouth, a little deeper every time. Boromir sat almost unmoving, the only outward sign of the affect Aragorn was having on him were the sighs and moans issuing from the very lips Aragorn was toying with.
Aragorn pushed Boromir back, pulling his shirt off as he did so, then pulling down his leggings with one swift movement. He ran his hands over Boromir’s chest, feeling taut muscles under warm skin. He kept his eyes locked with Boromir’s as he moved lower, until it was his breath on Boromir's cock. Boromir convulsed, and his hands reached out for Aragorn's head, but Aragorn pushed them back to lie on the ground, before taking Boromir's cock into his mouth. He saw Boromir's eyes glaze over, then his head drop back, chest heaving, hands firmly by his side. He sucked and licked, sometimes deep, sometimes shallow, always slowly. He eased Boromir's length all the way down, staying still for a moment, then pulling all the way off, licking the head with broad strokes of his tongue.
Boromir writhed and gasped, but his hands never left his sides. Aragorn abruptly turned him over, trapping his cock beneath him, and parted his cheeks, his tongue stabbing into Boromir as he thrashed.
“Lie still.”
Boromir's body stilled, holding on to the tormenting sensations as Aragorn continued to lick. Then Boromir was being turned over again, and watched as Aragorn slicked oil onto his own cock.
“I want to see your face as you come.”
Boromir moaned at the words as Aragorn pushed his legs apart, and he felt Aragorn's cock push at his entrance. His breath came in short gasps as Aragorn entered him, easing his way in until he could go no further. They lay still for a moment, Boromir taut with anticipation, then Aragorn began to fuck him. Slowly at first, building a rhythm, Aragorn moved within him. He saw Boromir's hands twitching at his sides, and needed to feel them. He took Boromir's right hand, kissed it, and placed it on his shoulder.
Then both of Boromir's hands were on him, touching, grasping, holding, bruising. His rhythm increased, taking on an urgency as he watched Boromir below him. Boromir's hands roamed his chest, glancing over sensitive nipples, and Aragorn felt it begin build within him. He slammed into Boromir, whose eyes locked with his. Aragorn put his hand between them, and took hold of Boromir's cock. Hot, soft, velvet skin in his hand, his touch tight and hard, and Boromir was falling over the edge, falling because he knew that Aragorn would catch him. Aragorn saw Boromir let go, felt him tighten, and then followed him over the edge. The world blinked out as Boromir came, just for a moment, then he was back, roaring his completion to the trees, as Aragorn came inside him.
The night before they reached the havens they took their rest in a wooded glade, and as the sun left the sky, Aragorn asked Boromir to join him by the fire. His lover was in good spirits, and talked happily of seeing Merry and Pippin again.
“Frodo is going with Gandalf, Elrond and Galadriel, into the West.”
“Why?”
“He has been a ringbearer, and can no longer find any comfort in this world.”
The words caught in Aragorn’s throat, and Boromir put a consoling hand to Aragorn’s face.
“Frodo needs to go. He will find peace over the sea.”
Aragorn heard the longing in Boromir's voice, and knew he had done the right thing. He watched Boromir smile sadly, and bow his head. Aragorn placed his hand on it, then he hesitated, just for a moment, as he thought about how close they had once more become. He did not want to lose the man who sat in front of him, but knew that one way or the other, he would lose him, whether it be to madness or to the sea. He steeled himself before speaking, words falling heavily from his lips.
“There is a place for you on the ship, if you want it.”
Boromir looked up unto Aragorn's eyes, eyes that had captivated him since the first time they had looked upon him. He was almost reluctant to let Aragorn see the hope that now dwelt in his eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion.
“I thought I couldn't leave you, thought it was required of me to walk by your side, even though we could not be together, even though life no longer held me as it once did.”
Boromir touched Aragorn's face, the face of his love, and swallowed back his emotions before continuing.
“I know now that I left you a long time ago, and that I had my own path to follow, but did not know how to find it. Thank you.”
A shadow passed over his face.
“Faramir …”
“He knows, Boromir. He sought Gandalf out after … after last time. He loves you.”
“And you, what about you?”
Boromir's face showed his concern.
“I … I will miss you.”
Aragorn’s heart bled as fierce words tumbled from him, wreathed in tears.
“I do not know what the Valar may yet grant me, but if you wake alone, know that I loved you, I always loved you, and will carry your memory with me through this life and on, to whatever fate may bring me.”
Boromir took Aragorn’s hands.
“I will never forget you, my king, my love.”
For the first night since the inn, they simply held each other, knowing that when dawn broke, their journey together would be almost over.
Boromir's eyes were wide as they rode down through deserted streets, and emerged on a dockside. He looked at Aragorn with amazement as he took in the sight before him. Elrond and Galadriel stood at the far end of the dock with Shadowfax, by a gangplank that led onto a white ship. And as he came round the corner onto the dock itself, he found the five hobbits and Gandalf.
He dismounted and made his way towards them, being almost knocked over by Merry and Pippin's enthusiastic welcome. Frodo hugged him too, and Sam smiled and shook his hand. While Boromir became reacquainted with his friends, Aragorn acknowledged Gandalf and went to pay his respects to the elves.
As Bilbo was taken aboard, humans and elves watched the tearful goodbyes of the hobbits. Aragorn turned Boromir to look at him, and Boromir saw tears welling in his eyes. He reached up and put his hand on Aragorn’s face.
Aragorn slipped his arm around his lover, and pulled him close, kissing him deeply. Boromir tasted his tears as they ran down his face, and pulled away. He ran his hand through Aragorn’s hair, and looked into his eyes. Before he could speak, a small hand had taken hold of his other hand, and he heard Frodo saying, “It’s time.”
He looked down at the hobbit, saw the smile on his face, felt the pressure of his hand.
“It’s time we were going, Boromir.”
Boromir looked back at Aragorn, who nodded, his tears now freely flowing.
“I would have stayed with you, my brother, my captain, my king.” He hung his head.
Aragorn placed his hands on either side of Boromir's face, raising his head and understanding all that he saw in his eyes. Softly, he kissed Boromir's brow.
“Be at peace, son of Gondor.”
For a second, Boromir was back at Amon Hen, life leaving his body, as Aragorn's tears dripped onto his face. And he understood. For the first time since that day, he felt whole, he felt calm, and knew this was meant to be.
He pulled Aragorn to him one last time, and then let Frodo lead him towards the waiting ship. Aragorn stood and watched as the ship slipped out of the harbour, Boromir standing tall, never taking his eyes from his King.
Aragorn rode from the harbour, urging Brego to the cliff's edge, so he could watch as the white ship passed out of memory. His eyes glistening with tears, he spoke to the wind, letting it carry his words away.
“They will look for his coming from the White Tower, but he will not return.”
With one last glance, he turned and began the long journey back to his home.
Alone.
INTO THE WEST
Lay down, your sweet and weary head
Night is falling, you have come to journey's end
Sleep now, dream – of the ones who came before
They are calling, from across a distant shore
Why do you weep? What are these tears upon your face?
Soon you will see, all of your fears will pass away
Safe in my arms, you’re only sleeping
What can you see, on the horizon? Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea, a pale moon rises
The ships have come, to carry you home
And all will turn to silver glass, a light on the water
All souls pass
Hope fades, into the world of night
Through shadows falling, out of memory and time
Don’t say, we have come now to the end
White shores are calling, you and I will meet again
And you’ll be here in my arms, just sleeping
What can you see, on the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea, a pale moon rises
The ships have come to carry you home
And all will turn to silver glass, a light on the water
Grey ships pass, into the West
Pairing: A/B
Summary: What if Boromir survived Amon Hen?
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Characters and places not mine - they belong to J. R. R. Tolkien & New Line. Song lyrics belong to Howard Shore
Notes: Also posted to "Rugbytackle", "Sons of Gondor" and "Bean Squee"
Beta: not beta-ed
Feedback: Would love it!
Archive: Rugbytackle. Anyone else, just ask first
What if Boromir survived Amon Hen?
Contains intense smut and intense angst.
Inspired in part by the "What if" drabbles by
seleneheart here and cruisedirector here and here and the track "Into the West from the ROTK soundtrack.
Also posted to
rugbytackle, sons_of_gondor and bean_squee.Disclaimer: Characters and places not mine - they belong to J. R. R. Tolkien & New Line. Song lyrics belong to Howard Shore
Into the West
Two years to the day since Boromir tried to take the ring from Frodo, he went missing. Again. An agitation akin to his behaviour on the road as they had neared Amon Hen had alerted Aragorn to his distress, and he had made sure that Faramir, Eowyn and Beregond were also close by, but Boromir had managed to evade them all. Aragorn strode through the citadel, hoping the people he passed would not notice the distraction behind his smiles of greeting. He had been through most rooms in the palace, most of Boromir's haunts, but the man himself had remained elusive. He knew Faramir was searching places in the lower levels, but he was certain Boromir was still here.
As he approached the throne room, he saw Beregond hurrying towards him. Faramir's trusted guard spoke without ceremony.
“My lord Boromir was seen entering the tower. The young guard who saw him was reluctant to approach him, as he appeared, ahh … determined in his course of action.”
Aragorn nodded. He had seen that look on Boromir's face, and knew exactly why the young Guard would have been reluctant to stop the enraged Steward. The tower had been off limits to all but Aragorn since Denethor's death, and Boromir was well aware of this.
“Find Faramir, Beregond, and tell him where we are. He's searching the lower levels.”
Beregond nodded his assent, and hurried off, as Aragorn broke into a run towards the tower.
High in the white tower, in the chamber that his father had used to conceal the Palantir, Boromir sat on an open window ledge with his knees drawn up, arms hugging them to his chest, rocking backwards and forwards. His eyes, wide open, were filled with despair. Images haunted him, the Eye, which he knew had been vanquished, sought him out, focusing all it’s hate and malice on him. Sauron’s voice echoed through his head drowning out all thoughts of reason that could have kept him sane.
Aragorn burst through the door, coming to an abrupt halt as he saw how precariously Boromir was perched on the ledge. He approached Boromir slowly, knelt before him and put his hand on his arm, ready to pull him back, should he lean out too far.
“He is gone, Boromir. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
Boromir laughed, a harsh unnatural sound. A chill slipped down Aragorn's spine, and he tightened his grip. One quick movement pulled Boromir to the floor, away from the open window. Aragorn held him close, as sobs now wracked Boromir's body. It broke Aragorn's heart to see him like this, and with each passing year the effects of this date worsened. His bright Steward, his friend, his one time lover was being torn apart. Each year it took him longer to recover, and Aragorn had tried all he knew, but was powerless to stop it.
“I know that, I know that.” Boromir still rocked backwards and forwards against Aragorn's chest. “But why can I still feel him? Why can I still hear his words in my head? Why does it still feel as if he has his hand around my heart?”
He clung to Aragorn, and Aragorn kissed his brow. Slowly, Boromir calmed, melting into the arms around him, but his next words chilled Aragorn to the bone.
“Perhaps it would have been better if I had died at Amon Hen.”
“No!” Aragorn gasped, pushing Boromir away just enough to grab him by the shoulders, and look into his eyes, shocked at the depth of misery he found there. “No, Boromir.”
He remembered crashing into the clearing, and knocking the large Uruk Hai off it’s feet. Then Boromir had joined him in defeating it. Later, he had pulled the arrow from Boromir's shoulder, as his friend confessed his betrayal of Frodo.
The distance that had grown between them in the years since the war saddened Aragorn. There were times when all he wanted was to sit at Boromir's side as they both looked out over the Pelennor, and rest his head on his shoulder. And there were times when he wanted more.
Guilt stabbed through Aragorn as he realised that holding Boromir when he was like this was not only beneficial to his friend, but the only time he could get this close to him. Even as he comforted Boromir, part of him relished the feel of his hard, strong body in his arms.
Moments later, Aragorn heard Faramir's footsteps in the stairs behind them, and together, they got Boromir back to his room. Aragorn administered a strong sleeping draught, then motioned for Faramir to follow him from the room.
“This can’t go on. We need to talk to Gandalf.”
Faramir nodded, then reached out and put his hand on Aragorn's shoulder.
“Whatever it takes.”
Aragorn strode down the corridor, as Faramir went back into the room to tend to his brother.
Aragorn and Boromir set out from Minas Tirith one bright morning. Aragorn told Boromir that he wanted his company on a journey to see Gandalf one last time, as the wizard was sailing on the last ship to leave from the Grey Havens. It would also give them a chance to be reunited with the hobbits, as they too were meeting up with Gandalf
This had lifted Boromir's spirits, and he was in good humour as they rode, looking forward to seeing Merry and Pippin again. They travelled across country for a few days, making camp wherever they happened to be when the sun left the sky. They talked companionably each night until one of them became too tired, and then lay down to sleep, bedrolls always far enough apart, Aragorn noticed, so that there was no chance of rolling into one another in the night.
Aragorn had begun to think that Boromir had indeed lost all feeling for him, but needed to know. The next morning, he suggested to Boromir that they spend that night at an inn that was not far, as he was not used to sleeping outdoors any more.
Boromir grinned at him, but agreed, and they arrived at the inn having ridden through a rainstorm. They took care of the horses, and then shared a pleasant meal while listening to the local gossip of the inn’s patrons.
Later, in the large room they had been given, Boromir sat cross-legged on a rug in front of the roaring fire, staring into the flames. After making use of the bath that had been provided for them by the innkeeper, he had wrapped himself in a large towel, and was now drying himself by the fire.
Freshly washed blonde hair rippled over his shoulders, and Aragorn found it hard to breath as he looked at his former lover, his Steward. He wondered what Boromir’s reaction would be when he touched him. Would he pull away, as Aragorn feared, or would he return to gesture, and more. Aragorn shuddered at the thought.
Aragorn, also fresh from a bath, poured out two glasses of wine, handing one to Boromir before joining him on the rug. He sat down behind him, and pulled his friend back against his chest. The smell of warm, freshly washed skin, Boromir's skin, was intoxicating. Boromir relaxed back against him, and he let out a sigh of relief. They sat for a while, Aragorn unwilling to disturb the companionable silence they shared, then Boromir started to speak.
“Do you remember the day in the rocks? We had been teaching Merry and Pippin how to use their swords, and then we had to hide beneath the overhangs?”
Aragorn's free arm wrapped itself around Boromir, who began to move his hand over it, his fingers tracing muscle beneath skin. Aragorn’s hold on him tightened.
“I remember,” he murmured into Boromir's hair.
“That night we took watch together, and sat on the edge of camp talking.”
Aragorn smiled at the memory.
“We had talked for most of the night, then you leaned closer and kissed me …”
“I thought you were going to hit me, the look on your face …”
They both laughed, memories and distance opening up something between them that had been closed by circumstance.
“For a moment I thought I was going to hit you …”
“… but you kissed me back …”
“… and then you pulled us off that rock …”
“… out of sight of the camp …”
“… I’m sure Legolas heard everything, the noise you were making …”
Aragorn’s laughter filled the room.
“The noise I was making!!”
Then they were both roaring with laughter, and Aragorn felt as if this was the first time they had truly relaxed in each other's company for years. As the laughter subsided, wine forgotten, Boromir twisted round to face Aragorn, pulling away until he was kneeling opposite him. Aragorn took a breath to speak, but before he had the chance, Boromir put his fingers gently over Aragorn's lips, and shook his head.
“There's so much we need to say to one another, I know, but not now, not tonight.”
The plea in Boromir's eyes was irresistible, and Aragorn simply nodded, thinking that perhaps they could wait one more night. He smiled at Boromir, who smiled back, then reached out, his hand snaking around Aragorn's neck, grasping his hair, pulling him forwards. Then he was arching to meet the body that he had denied himself for so long. Memories of their time together paled as Boromir claimed Aragorn's lips, tongue slipping between them, arrogantly demanding entrance that he knew would not be denied. Boromir's hold on him tightened, his free hand falling on Aragorn's hip, loosening his towel, then moving round to his lower back, forcefully pulling him even closer. Aragorn's arms wrapped themselves around Boromir's neck, and he luxuriated in the feel of hot skin on hot skin.
Boromir broke contact and stood, his towel falling to the ground as he pulled Aragorn to his feet and towards the larger of the two beds. Aragorn felt almost overwhelmed by the passion that clearly stirred in Boromir as he pushed him down on the bed, then stood, looking at him, naked hunger burning in his eyes. Aragorn felt something akin to fear shiver it's way down his spine, then Boromir was on him. Boromir forced his tongue into Aragorn's mouth, and Aragorn suckled on it as Boromir's hands roamed his body. He felt Boromir part his thighs so he could kneel between them, then his head was pulled over to one side by his hair, and Boromir was licking his way down Aragorn's neck. He moved hastily downwards, biting nipples and sucking on tender flesh, until he reached his goal.
He took the head of Aragorn's cock into his mouth, and with a restraint Aragorn had not expected, gently sucked on it, circling it with his tongue. Aragorn was momentarily shocked into immobility, then his hands were buried in blonde hair, and his body arched off the bed. Boromir reached up and pushed him back down, teasing a nipple as he did so. Aragorn writhed, his body pleading for more, his mind oblivious to anything other than Boromir's mouth. Slowly, Boromir teased him, taking his cock deeper into his mouth a little at a time, pausing now and again to lazily lick the head. After an agonisingly long time, or so it seemed to Aragorn, Boromir had him buried deep in his throat. He held him there for a moment, gently sucking, then pulled all the way off.
The body below him stilled, and Aragorn lifted his head just enough to stare into wicked green eyes. As Aragorn watched, Boromir stuck his fingers in his mouth coating them with saliva then, not taking his eyes from Aragorn’s he eased Aragorn's cock back into his mouth. Aragorn felt Boromir's wet fingers ease their way between his cheeks, and his breath came in short bursts as he waited for Boromir to stop teasing. Then Boromir's fingers opened him, easing inside him, moving slowly at first, then faster, harder, and then he swallowed around Aragorn's cock. Aragorn's eyes went wide, and he lost sight of Boromir as his head slammed back against the pillows and he came, howling, as Boromir milked him, lapping up every drop as if he were quenching his thirst.
Gently, he removed his fingers, and moved up the bed to lie beside his lover. Aragorn whimpered as Boromir took him in his arms, stroking his skin. Boromir kissed him, long and slow, tasting his mouth as his hands lost themselves in his hair. Lazily, he turned Aragorn over to lie on his belly. He knew from experience how sensitive Aragorn's skin would be now, and moved his hands firmly over Aragorn's back and arms, enjoying every moan, groan, and sensuous movement that his stroking caused.
He gradually moved down Aragorn's back, over his buttocks, and down his legs, paying particular attention to the backs of his knees. He now followed his hands with his mouth; suckling on this sensitive flesh hard enough to leave bruises behind, and held Aragorn steady as he thrashed on the bed. Slowly he moved upwards, easing Aragorn's legs apart, touching and kissing and licking his way up his inner thighs. Aragorn felt Boromir's hands parting strong muscles, then he jumped and cried out as Boromir's tongue found its prize, lapping at the tight ring of muscle before pushing inside. Boromir had to grab Aragorn's hips to keep him still, as Aragorn buried his face in the pillows beneath him, and screamed. Again and again, Boromir pushed his tongue deep, until Aragorn went limp below him, tremors coursing through him as senses overloaded.
Reaching down under the bed, Boromir reluctantly left his ministrations to find the bottle of oil he had left there earlier. Quickly, he covered his cock, and pulled Aragorn back towards him until he was on his knees. He eased himself inside his lover, shuddering as looked down to watch his cock enter Aragorn again after so long, and gave himself up to the heat he had longed for. Aragorn's panting increased, and Boromir could hold back no longer. He pulled out, grabbed Aragorn's hips and slammed back in. Aragorn's head snapped back, and his dark hair whipped across his shoulders. Boromir caught hold of his hair, and pulled, forcing Aragorn to keep his back hollowed as Boromir pounded into him. Boromir pulled Aragorn's head to one side, and licked hot skin over the taut sinews of his neck. Then he bit down, and Aragorn's world disappeared. He felt claimed, owned. This was what he wanted, what he had needed. And when Boromir reached down with his free hand and touched his cock, his body jack-knifed, come spraying over the bed below him. He cried out again and again as Boromir lost control, thrusting harder and harder until he came, forcing Aragorn down onto the bed. Aragorn felt the liquid heat of Boromir's seed deep inside him and let out a ragged sigh.
They both lay still for a while, luxuriating in the feel of one another.
Aragorn manoeuvred Boromir off him, and pulled a blanket over him as they clung to each other and he felt the tremors that pulsed through Boromir lessen.
“I missed you.” Boromir whispered as he held Aragorn close.
“I missed you, too.” Aragorn stroked Boromir's hair. “She didn't mind, you knew that. Why did you keep me at arms length all this time?”
“I know she didn't mind,” Boromir said softly, “but I did.”
“What do you mean?” Aragorn pushed away a little so he could sit up and look at Boromir.
“I didn’t want to share you.”
It felt so good to finally be able to tell Aragorn how he felt.
“I couldn't bear the thought of you being with her night after night, and coming to me in secret, only when you could escape the rest of your life. I wanted to be part of you life, in a way I could never have been. So I decided that I would distance myself from you, as much as a Steward can be distanced from his King, and hoped it would lessen the pain.”
“Did it?”
Boromir hung his head.
“No, not much. I felt so lost without you to anchor me down. I know that I am your Steward, but sometimes I feel like I should be somewhere else, that I’ve forgotten to do something important. And then there are the days when …”
He sighed, but when he lifted his head, his eyes were shining.
“But here … now …. I decided that this trip would be the last chance to let you know how I still felt, and I hoped you felt the same.”
He smiled.
“I guess you do.”
“You know I do, and here I was thinking I would have to seduce you!”
They both laughed softly, then Aragorn leant towards Boromir, kissed him and pulled his lover’s head down to rest on his chest.
“Sleep now. We'll talk in the morning.”
Aragorn felt Boromir’s head nod, and held him close, letting sleep take them.
Over the next weeks, as they travelled on towards their goal, they talked of things that mattered, things that should not have been left unsaid, and each night, they slept curled around one another after sating their hunger for more than just food.
Boromir kissed Aragorn hungrily, but this time Aragorn grasped a handful of Boromir’s hair, and slowly pushed him to his knees. Boromir raised his eyes to look at Aragorn, his breathing shallow, his eyes calm, accepting.
“My King.”
His words took Aragorn’s breath away. His words made Aragorn need to see him come apart.
Holding Boromir's hair with one hand, Aragorn unlaced his own leggings with the other, and eased out his already swollen cock. He watched as Boromir's eyes were drawn to it, and pushed his head towards it until he could feel Boromir's breath on his skin.
“Taste me.”
Boromir licked Aragorn's cock from base to tip, suckling at the moisture that was already leaking from the slit. Boromir opened his mouth wide, and Aragorn pushed his head down until his cock touched the back of Boromir's throat, then Boromir's mouth closed around it, sucking gently, causing waves of pleasure to rock Aragorn as he stood.
Still using his hair, Aragorn stilled his head, and slowly raised him to his feet, leading him to where their bedrolls lay. He sat down and pulled Boromir down after him, his grey eyes locked with Boromir's green. With the tip of his finger, he traced the outline of Boromir's lips, and Boromir moaned. Aragorn leaned forward and kissed him, slowly, now tracing his lips with his tongue, then parting Boromir's lips and moving his tongue in and out of Boromir's mouth, a little deeper every time. Boromir sat almost unmoving, the only outward sign of the affect Aragorn was having on him were the sighs and moans issuing from the very lips Aragorn was toying with.
Aragorn pushed Boromir back, pulling his shirt off as he did so, then pulling down his leggings with one swift movement. He ran his hands over Boromir’s chest, feeling taut muscles under warm skin. He kept his eyes locked with Boromir’s as he moved lower, until it was his breath on Boromir's cock. Boromir convulsed, and his hands reached out for Aragorn's head, but Aragorn pushed them back to lie on the ground, before taking Boromir's cock into his mouth. He saw Boromir's eyes glaze over, then his head drop back, chest heaving, hands firmly by his side. He sucked and licked, sometimes deep, sometimes shallow, always slowly. He eased Boromir's length all the way down, staying still for a moment, then pulling all the way off, licking the head with broad strokes of his tongue.
Boromir writhed and gasped, but his hands never left his sides. Aragorn abruptly turned him over, trapping his cock beneath him, and parted his cheeks, his tongue stabbing into Boromir as he thrashed.
“Lie still.”
Boromir's body stilled, holding on to the tormenting sensations as Aragorn continued to lick. Then Boromir was being turned over again, and watched as Aragorn slicked oil onto his own cock.
“I want to see your face as you come.”
Boromir moaned at the words as Aragorn pushed his legs apart, and he felt Aragorn's cock push at his entrance. His breath came in short gasps as Aragorn entered him, easing his way in until he could go no further. They lay still for a moment, Boromir taut with anticipation, then Aragorn began to fuck him. Slowly at first, building a rhythm, Aragorn moved within him. He saw Boromir's hands twitching at his sides, and needed to feel them. He took Boromir's right hand, kissed it, and placed it on his shoulder.
Then both of Boromir's hands were on him, touching, grasping, holding, bruising. His rhythm increased, taking on an urgency as he watched Boromir below him. Boromir's hands roamed his chest, glancing over sensitive nipples, and Aragorn felt it begin build within him. He slammed into Boromir, whose eyes locked with his. Aragorn put his hand between them, and took hold of Boromir's cock. Hot, soft, velvet skin in his hand, his touch tight and hard, and Boromir was falling over the edge, falling because he knew that Aragorn would catch him. Aragorn saw Boromir let go, felt him tighten, and then followed him over the edge. The world blinked out as Boromir came, just for a moment, then he was back, roaring his completion to the trees, as Aragorn came inside him.
The night before they reached the havens they took their rest in a wooded glade, and as the sun left the sky, Aragorn asked Boromir to join him by the fire. His lover was in good spirits, and talked happily of seeing Merry and Pippin again.
“Frodo is going with Gandalf, Elrond and Galadriel, into the West.”
“Why?”
“He has been a ringbearer, and can no longer find any comfort in this world.”
The words caught in Aragorn’s throat, and Boromir put a consoling hand to Aragorn’s face.
“Frodo needs to go. He will find peace over the sea.”
Aragorn heard the longing in Boromir's voice, and knew he had done the right thing. He watched Boromir smile sadly, and bow his head. Aragorn placed his hand on it, then he hesitated, just for a moment, as he thought about how close they had once more become. He did not want to lose the man who sat in front of him, but knew that one way or the other, he would lose him, whether it be to madness or to the sea. He steeled himself before speaking, words falling heavily from his lips.
“There is a place for you on the ship, if you want it.”
Boromir looked up unto Aragorn's eyes, eyes that had captivated him since the first time they had looked upon him. He was almost reluctant to let Aragorn see the hope that now dwelt in his eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion.
“I thought I couldn't leave you, thought it was required of me to walk by your side, even though we could not be together, even though life no longer held me as it once did.”
Boromir touched Aragorn's face, the face of his love, and swallowed back his emotions before continuing.
“I know now that I left you a long time ago, and that I had my own path to follow, but did not know how to find it. Thank you.”
A shadow passed over his face.
“Faramir …”
“He knows, Boromir. He sought Gandalf out after … after last time. He loves you.”
“And you, what about you?”
Boromir's face showed his concern.
“I … I will miss you.”
Aragorn’s heart bled as fierce words tumbled from him, wreathed in tears.
“I do not know what the Valar may yet grant me, but if you wake alone, know that I loved you, I always loved you, and will carry your memory with me through this life and on, to whatever fate may bring me.”
Boromir took Aragorn’s hands.
“I will never forget you, my king, my love.”
For the first night since the inn, they simply held each other, knowing that when dawn broke, their journey together would be almost over.
Boromir's eyes were wide as they rode down through deserted streets, and emerged on a dockside. He looked at Aragorn with amazement as he took in the sight before him. Elrond and Galadriel stood at the far end of the dock with Shadowfax, by a gangplank that led onto a white ship. And as he came round the corner onto the dock itself, he found the five hobbits and Gandalf.
He dismounted and made his way towards them, being almost knocked over by Merry and Pippin's enthusiastic welcome. Frodo hugged him too, and Sam smiled and shook his hand. While Boromir became reacquainted with his friends, Aragorn acknowledged Gandalf and went to pay his respects to the elves.
As Bilbo was taken aboard, humans and elves watched the tearful goodbyes of the hobbits. Aragorn turned Boromir to look at him, and Boromir saw tears welling in his eyes. He reached up and put his hand on Aragorn’s face.
Aragorn slipped his arm around his lover, and pulled him close, kissing him deeply. Boromir tasted his tears as they ran down his face, and pulled away. He ran his hand through Aragorn’s hair, and looked into his eyes. Before he could speak, a small hand had taken hold of his other hand, and he heard Frodo saying, “It’s time.”
He looked down at the hobbit, saw the smile on his face, felt the pressure of his hand.
“It’s time we were going, Boromir.”
Boromir looked back at Aragorn, who nodded, his tears now freely flowing.
“I would have stayed with you, my brother, my captain, my king.” He hung his head.
Aragorn placed his hands on either side of Boromir's face, raising his head and understanding all that he saw in his eyes. Softly, he kissed Boromir's brow.
“Be at peace, son of Gondor.”
For a second, Boromir was back at Amon Hen, life leaving his body, as Aragorn's tears dripped onto his face. And he understood. For the first time since that day, he felt whole, he felt calm, and knew this was meant to be.
He pulled Aragorn to him one last time, and then let Frodo lead him towards the waiting ship. Aragorn stood and watched as the ship slipped out of the harbour, Boromir standing tall, never taking his eyes from his King.
Aragorn rode from the harbour, urging Brego to the cliff's edge, so he could watch as the white ship passed out of memory. His eyes glistening with tears, he spoke to the wind, letting it carry his words away.
“They will look for his coming from the White Tower, but he will not return.”
With one last glance, he turned and began the long journey back to his home.
Alone.
INTO THE WEST
Lay down, your sweet and weary head
Night is falling, you have come to journey's end
Sleep now, dream – of the ones who came before
They are calling, from across a distant shore
Why do you weep? What are these tears upon your face?
Soon you will see, all of your fears will pass away
Safe in my arms, you’re only sleeping
What can you see, on the horizon? Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea, a pale moon rises
The ships have come, to carry you home
And all will turn to silver glass, a light on the water
All souls pass
Hope fades, into the world of night
Through shadows falling, out of memory and time
Don’t say, we have come now to the end
White shores are calling, you and I will meet again
And you’ll be here in my arms, just sleeping
What can you see, on the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea, a pale moon rises
The ships have come to carry you home
And all will turn to silver glass, a light on the water
Grey ships pass, into the West
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Just to let you know, none of the icons are of Paris Howe Strewe, of which only one pic exists apart from the dying/dead ones from the movie.
They are of a model called Justin Poortinga. He was closest to my vision of the Paris and Theo I write for Dreams. Meant I could have more icons!!
Yep, no problem with windswept, but can't see a Young Theo one? There are a couple I do want to keep for the game, but most of them would be okay for you to use. You wanna check what the other one you liked was called and get back to me?
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He (actually, his portrait on the "Dangerpants" info page) inspired a line in my story (my first smut, actually), Fealty (http://www.livejournal.com/users/annmarwalk/36015.html#cutid1). The line is:
Théodred was savoring the feel of a hipbone that fit perfectly into his hand.
So that's Justin Poortinga. Wow.
"Windswept" is just perfect, I'll use that one for my Theodred/Boromir tales. Thanks so much!
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gape gawk swoonworship. Y'all have performed a great public service bringing thistotally hott piece ofmasterpiece of creation to our attention.no subject
Justin has really become my vision of Théo, and to think his pic inspired someone else's Théodred fic is just amazing!!
*hugs you and runs off to read Fealty*