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Title: The Passing of Time
Author: Evandar (yamievandar / hikarievandar)
Rating: T
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Pairings: Boromir/Aragorn, mentioned Legolas/Gimli
Warnings: Angst and slash
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I make any profit.
Summary: The progression - through snippets - of Boromir and Aragorn's relationship.
Notes: This was written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
yorkie_chan, who amazed me for asking for slash between Aragorn and Boromir. As it would be my first attempt at LotR Fic, it kind of stumped me at first.
1.
Sweat dripped down locks of pale russet hair into Aragorn’s eyes. Aragorn tried to blink them away, giving the impression that he was crying even as he clutched at the shoulders of the man above him.
Boromir smelt of sweat and horses and grime, and his mouth tasted of Elrond’s finest cured meats and wine – only the best for the son of Gondor’s Steward – from the dinner that night. He had come to Aragorn for company that night, and Aragorn had accepted, if only because he sought debauchery while in the midst of Elven virtues.
2.
“The King of Gondor spreads his legs for any man, then?”
His voice was harsh, but Aragorn was grateful for its lack of volume. He turned to see Boromir leaning against one of the many pillars, and angry look marring his handsome features. He had been sharing Aragorn’s bed for a week without knowing who he was, or even asking, and Aragorn supposed that earned him an answer.
“Only for the most worthy of men,” he replied with a smile.
3.
“I will never call you my King,” Boromir told him.
They were lying tangled in the silken sheets of Aragorn’s bed in Rivendell, Boromir’s head resting on Aragorn’s thin hip, his breath ghosting over Aragorn’s stomach as he spoke.
“I do not ask you to,” Aragorn murmured, lowering a hand to twist his fingers in Boromir’s russet hair.
“Gondor needs no King,” Boromir said with conviction, and Aragorn wondered if Borormir truly believed those words.
4.
The Hobbits had begged and wheedled for a song from Legolas, and eventually – it took the Hobbits the better part of two days to persuade him – the Elf prince gave in. His voice filled the cave they had found to stay in for the night, high and sweet and clear, with a song of love and light.
But Boromir barely listened to the words – Quenya was not his best language after all – and instead he spent the evening watching the firelight play over Aragorn’s noble features. Aragorn spent his time watching Gimli, who was staring at Legolas with something akin to awe, and Gandalf watched over them all; sitting in silence and smoking his pipe.
5.
The darkness of Moria was thick and oppressive, and not even the light from Gandalf’s staff or the faint aura of starlight that shone around Legolas – pure though they both were – could lift the weight of the mine’s blackness from them. Instead the mine seemed to leech that light from the staff and the Elf, leaving both looking pale and sickly.
When the time came to rest, Boromir would curl up behind Aragorn, pulling Aragorn’s body close to his and holding him tight as if he feared losing Aragorn to the dark.
6.
Galadriel had looked into his eyes and she had known, but she had not judged. She had smiled, her blue eyes sad, and told him that “naught but grief and pain will come of this choice, Elessar, and soon that pain will strike you”. But despite everything, despite her relation to Arwen, she had not judged.
Just as she had not judged Gimli and Legolas when the Dwarf had discovered that the Elf was not nearly as untouchable as he had thought, and the Elf realised that beneath the dwarf’s gruff façade, there lay a heart of gold.
7.
Aragorn brushed his lips over Boromir’s for one last time. His lips were cold and hard in death, not at all like the warm, soft lips he had come to love. Stepping back, he pushed the boat hard, sending it just short of the middle of the river before the current carried it – and Boromir – over the edge of the waterfall. Aragorn felt something wet on his cheek as he watched its progress and realised that he was crying.
He felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder, and the comforting squeeze of long, slender digits. He looked at Legolas and saw matching, magnified sorrow in the leaf-green eyes of the Elf; Legolas, who was bound to watch the whole world die around him and Aragorn finally understood the true curse of a long life.
Author: Evandar (yamievandar / hikarievandar)
Rating: T
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Pairings: Boromir/Aragorn, mentioned Legolas/Gimli
Warnings: Angst and slash
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I make any profit.
Summary: The progression - through snippets - of Boromir and Aragorn's relationship.
Notes: This was written for
yorkie_chan, who amazed me for asking for slash between Aragorn and Boromir. As it would be my first attempt at LotR Fic, it kind of stumped me at first.1.
Sweat dripped down locks of pale russet hair into Aragorn’s eyes. Aragorn tried to blink them away, giving the impression that he was crying even as he clutched at the shoulders of the man above him.
Boromir smelt of sweat and horses and grime, and his mouth tasted of Elrond’s finest cured meats and wine – only the best for the son of Gondor’s Steward – from the dinner that night. He had come to Aragorn for company that night, and Aragorn had accepted, if only because he sought debauchery while in the midst of Elven virtues.
2.
“The King of Gondor spreads his legs for any man, then?”
His voice was harsh, but Aragorn was grateful for its lack of volume. He turned to see Boromir leaning against one of the many pillars, and angry look marring his handsome features. He had been sharing Aragorn’s bed for a week without knowing who he was, or even asking, and Aragorn supposed that earned him an answer.
“Only for the most worthy of men,” he replied with a smile.
3.
“I will never call you my King,” Boromir told him.
They were lying tangled in the silken sheets of Aragorn’s bed in Rivendell, Boromir’s head resting on Aragorn’s thin hip, his breath ghosting over Aragorn’s stomach as he spoke.
“I do not ask you to,” Aragorn murmured, lowering a hand to twist his fingers in Boromir’s russet hair.
“Gondor needs no King,” Boromir said with conviction, and Aragorn wondered if Borormir truly believed those words.
4.
The Hobbits had begged and wheedled for a song from Legolas, and eventually – it took the Hobbits the better part of two days to persuade him – the Elf prince gave in. His voice filled the cave they had found to stay in for the night, high and sweet and clear, with a song of love and light.
But Boromir barely listened to the words – Quenya was not his best language after all – and instead he spent the evening watching the firelight play over Aragorn’s noble features. Aragorn spent his time watching Gimli, who was staring at Legolas with something akin to awe, and Gandalf watched over them all; sitting in silence and smoking his pipe.
5.
The darkness of Moria was thick and oppressive, and not even the light from Gandalf’s staff or the faint aura of starlight that shone around Legolas – pure though they both were – could lift the weight of the mine’s blackness from them. Instead the mine seemed to leech that light from the staff and the Elf, leaving both looking pale and sickly.
When the time came to rest, Boromir would curl up behind Aragorn, pulling Aragorn’s body close to his and holding him tight as if he feared losing Aragorn to the dark.
6.
Galadriel had looked into his eyes and she had known, but she had not judged. She had smiled, her blue eyes sad, and told him that “naught but grief and pain will come of this choice, Elessar, and soon that pain will strike you”. But despite everything, despite her relation to Arwen, she had not judged.
Just as she had not judged Gimli and Legolas when the Dwarf had discovered that the Elf was not nearly as untouchable as he had thought, and the Elf realised that beneath the dwarf’s gruff façade, there lay a heart of gold.
7.
Aragorn brushed his lips over Boromir’s for one last time. His lips were cold and hard in death, not at all like the warm, soft lips he had come to love. Stepping back, he pushed the boat hard, sending it just short of the middle of the river before the current carried it – and Boromir – over the edge of the waterfall. Aragorn felt something wet on his cheek as he watched its progress and realised that he was crying.
He felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder, and the comforting squeeze of long, slender digits. He looked at Legolas and saw matching, magnified sorrow in the leaf-green eyes of the Elf; Legolas, who was bound to watch the whole world die around him and Aragorn finally understood the true curse of a long life.
