Title: A Light from the Shadows Author: Office Ennui Author's Email: office_ennui@yahoo.com Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir Rating: R Summary: "He had a word, too. Love, he called it. But I had been used to words for a long time. I knew that that word was like the others: just a shape to fill a lack; that when the right time came, you wouldn't need a word for that anymore than for pride or fear.” (As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner) Disclaimer: Private property created crime. The characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, as do some of the words (see notes) and the scenes belong to Peter Jackson (who based them on, well obviously you know all about that). Nothing belongs to me. Up with people, down with profits! Authors Note: Most of the dialog (and both excerpts of poetry) was plagiarized verbatim from Tolkien. This was originally written as feedback to Your Cruise Director’s amazing fic Edge. Therefore, this piece could not exist without her, specifically and in general. I owe her a debt of thanks I know not how to repay. I also am deeply endebted to Cinzia and aesc for their encouragement and feedback. I would like to Jenn and madame muppet just because. Seek for the Sword that was broken: In Imladris it dwells; There shall be counsels taken Stronger than Morgul-spells. // There is no release from irony, it wraps its fingers like a web, yet that it should begin with a sword and end with one is almost too much. It should not surprise me; my life has known no absence of weapons. They have their uses, so I was raised to believe, though my love for them was oft misunderstood even by those closest to me. I know that you alone understood that, your life more than mine has been lived under the shadow of steel. Yet, it seemed more than a familiar knowledge though perhaps it was not. Perhaps it is easy to see patterns now and to remember things with another meaning. The light is soft now, your hair an inverted halo. // +++ “For few, I deem, know of our deeds, and therefore guess little of their peril, if we should fail at last.” These words were not easy to speak, yet they had been pressing upon me since I came across the Sword-that-was- Broken in Lord Elrond’s halls. I had taken leave of my chambers to focus my mind in preparation for the Council; sitting in a room was making my mood sour. Heavy were the words my father had laid upon me at our parting, heavier still the worries of my brother in his care alone. Despite all my efforts and victory on battle fields, no action I took seemed capable of wining some measure of peace between the two. I thought perhaps when we regained Osgiliath my father would see hope or reason in his son rather than in his visions. I should not be here, was all I could think as I walked the halls, I am of use with sword and shield, not cunning words to turn a fortune or boon. That my brother could do, not I. He would find a way to turn hearts to our aide where I, at best, can win arms. It was then as I rounded the corner that I saw the mural, Isildur bathed in an unearthly glow fallen before the Nameless One. There are many murals in Gondor, but none of such a scene or pose. To see our lost king upon his knees… My skin pricked and though I knew it to be the moment of our triumph over the Dark Lord; I felt as if a shadow had crossed me. I should not be here, came the thought again as I saw the Hunter’s Moon cast its pale light upon a statue, arms outstretched in supplication or an offering. I knew what it must be but I could not believe it - the shards of Nasril! Was this a sign that hope was ours even in our darkest moments; I wondered as I took the hilt into my hand. Perfect balance. It was a marvel of craftsmanship; the blade still sharp after so many years of idle use. I felt something blaze upon my skin and turning to its source I found your eyes. The air turned silver and silent between us as something rushed up inside me, tightening my chest. I turned from you, unable to check my emotions which have been, all my life, too quick to surface. I heard the blade clatter. It rang in my ears, like a warning, until dawn. When I said the words the next morning at the Council, I knew they were bereft of hope. It was worse still to have said them in front of you upon learning your lineage. I am not so fool I could not recognize it upon first seeing you, yet I would not believe it. And to have revealed how tenuously we held the darkness of the enemy from our land! It was too much. I am a proud man and can admit no weakness, though it was my father’s I feared you heard in my plea. For that my anger flared, shame a fuel worse than pride. I stayed silent after, willing reason to check my tongue, and thought of what this meant in truth to have found Isildur’s heir. You spoke of baring arms with us then, not to claim a throne but to share our plight. Yet how can we trust to your allegiance in such a desperate hour? I thought of the words of the dream then, and remembered what had flared in me upon seeing you. Could this be the gift then to save Gondor? To what do I trust, my father’s visions or mine? I winced from the thoughts. “…For men you shall have Aragorn son of Arathorn, for the Ring of Isildur concerns him closely.” These words brought me back from my thoughts. Lord Elrond addressed Frodo, who looked to you as if you alone could save Middle-Earth from evil. “I would have begged you to come,” said Frodo, “only I thought you were going to Minas Tirith with Boromir.” “I am,” you said. “And the Sword-that-was-Broken shall be re-forged ere I set out to war. But your road and our road lie together for many hundreds of miles. Therefore Boromir will also be in the Company. He is a valiant man.” I felt the hope when you promised your sword to my city freeze in my heart. I had spent a lifetime watching a ruler bend the will of others to his purpose, why had I thought your reasons would be different? And to call me valiant, that was worse still, for it proved you saw nothing. You had no need for charms, I would have given my oath to the Halfling in duty to my people without your appeals to my vanity or valor. I think I smiled then and you mistook it. When we left the Council I could feel the burn of your eyes upon me, ever has it been in your presence. Like fire to dry kindling, my skin knows no guard against you, though I used what armor as I could find to spare you that knowledge. In the months of our preparation your laughter flowed easily, yet never with me. For me, there was only fire and silence. Not unkindly, I could guess your reasons. So long in exile you longed for a bond of kinship and at once despised the need of it. Laughter is easily misunderstood when you seek to earn trust, and so with me you made a point to keep it absent from our meetings which I in turn would always end short. Our conversations were always of our quest; paths we might take and reports that came to you from the Rangers. Even when we scouted together you avoided the subject of Gondor and my questions of your travels through Mordor you would not answer. Perhaps you felt you needed to prove yourself to me first as a man, rather than in tales of glory or deeds of virtue. Perhaps in seeing you as a man it became all the more difficult for me. However, it was what I did not put to words that kept us at odds. What need did I have to speak the words you could see clear enough in my eyes: what king would abandon his people? Ice then to your fire, I would not melt before you. +++ // I cannot return to what I once was, that you have sealed with your oath to our city. Now there is hope yet I would take from you the need for swords so you would know another life, though how can I protect you when I have failed at so much, my captain? I know you cannot return either. You do not see it yet, though if I had words I could make you see it as I do. There is so little time and yet this moment stretches. If I were a poet, I could tell you how it wells in me and how at this moment I can give in to it as I would not allow before. This end is not bitter. // +++ “Well,” I said, “when heads are at a loss bodies must serve, as they say in my country. Though all is now snow-clad, our path, as we came up, turned about that shoulder of rock down yonder. If we could reach that point, maybe it would prove easier beyond. It is no more than a furlong off, I guess.” “Then let us force a path thither, you and I!” You declared. Your breath was ghostly in the dawn on Caradhras and the elf’s laughter was like ice breaking. I frowned at him and knew he took the rise of color to my cheeks for what it was and not as I would have intended. Anger is a fuel but greater still frustration and doubt. The snow parted before my efforts, more animal than human, pride lost to purpose. I wondered if there was not some wisdom in this of greater importance than clearing a path: perhaps I had judged you too harshly. What did I know of your trials in the wilderness, what dangers you fought or borders protected? What would it matter if I did know such things? Would we have welcomed you if you had returned, and more to the point would my father welcome you now? I had seen your strength and kindness, not simply with sword but in judgment - but my father? He cannot even see it in his own son, how could he see it in a rival? Your hand pulled at my shoulder. Turning too quickly away from it, I lost my footing. “Steady, Boromir.” Your hands on my arms were a kind of steel but your eyes were soft. This will not help me stop from falling, I thought as I looked at your fingers pale from the cold. “My thanks,” I said and realized I was smiling for your expression had changed so suddenly, in your eyes I saw both shock and something else I could not name. I wondered at how uncivil I had been for stray thanks to have such an effect. “You stopped me?” “Aye. I would take the lead for a pace, I would not see you - ” You looked torn over what phrase to use that would steer a new course between us. I understood what it meant to struggle for words. “Fall?” I offered, laughing at your hesitation and the realization both: yes, I have wronged you, truly. It was then I saw it clearly, the cloud of doubt was not wholly my own but some darker spell. I shook my head and took your shoulder in hand, “It is a wise suggestion, Aragorn.” “It is better to share some burdens than suffer alone.” Your words dug into me and the fear returned, the elf is not the only one who sees. I could see my flinch in your eyes, they dimmed and for the first time I saw it: your sadness. It was not me you spoke of then, but yourself. “You are right.” I told you, turning in the small space to avoid your heat and take my place behind you. Your hand reached for my arm then, but to stop me from what I wondered. I knew my eyes betrayed the question, but my voice was without guile when I said, “I will follow your lead. I think you know the way better; you are more accustom to making paths in the wild. Perhaps there is a better technique? It does not snow so in Gondor.” “I think I can do no better than you, Boromir. Your work is -” Your voice was softer than I remembered hearing it before. “Valiant?” I asked you before you could finish. At this it returned to your eyes, an unearthly and tender light, and your lips curled as you shook your head. I had made you laugh and I was ridiculous with the joy of it. “Come, we should not linger, the Little Ones will freeze through.” “Yes, when heads are at a loss bodies must serve.” You spoke with a smile that was different than any I had seen you offer to another. You let go of my arm then and I felt the loss so acutely I had to brace myself from the desire to take your hand. What spell is this, I wondered as you began to attack the dune of snow before you. Your movements were precise and full of grace, where mine had been but of fury. If there is honor in such a task he would find it, I thought smiling. I could not think the words then but I felt them: he is both beautiful and noble. It was not the first time the thought had come to me, but the first time I allowed it without pain. You were the only man I had thought it of, others I saw as comely or striking, but only in you did I find beauty. I thought at the time it was a sign of your heritage, but now I know it was simply you. +++ // No words of love and no sword of vengeance, our lives have been ruled too much by both in unequal measure. It is peace I would give you and take from you this wrath. I know it, my brother, I know it too well. The darkness carries it on whispers, no night is so devoid of light. I have seen it in you too, this doubt and anger. It licks at your wounds, poison and honey in its breath, a rage pure enough to silence the fear. You will feel it when this is over, I see it in your eyes. You will blame yourself as I have, thinking if we were but better men the ends would be different. We could spare those we love if we had been more diligent, or perhaps if we had said but once what was in our hearts. // +++ “There are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world.” Gandalf spoke into the dark of Moria, yet he had no need for such words. We could all feel it clinging to us like a fog, even Legolas was weighted by it. It was not just the stale air that scraped at my nerve, but the whispering in such a place grew louder. Knowing its source was no aide to me, though I warned myself to watch against it. Hours we walked in the dark, though to count time in such a place is not possible. Finally the Little Ones could go no more, though I feared, in truth, it was Gandalf’s indecision that seemed to stay us. If we became lost in such a place, but I could not complete the thought. To stop was worse, somehow I felt the gloom deeper then as if it pierced beneath the skin. It was not the gloom alone I feared was growing in strength. I moved to put as much distance between myself and the Ringbearer as I could take without causing notice. I took off my gloves and shifted my shield. “It would be better to move, if even in a circle…” I mumbled to myself. “Do not be afraid.” Your voice was too loud for this place. Though you did not speak in my direction, I was certain your words were more for me than the others. I looked to Gandalf and Gimili who consulted near a split in the path. “Gandalf has led us in here against our fears, but he will lead us out again, at whatever cost to himself. He is surer of finding the way home in a blind night than the cats of Queen Beruthiel.” “Queen Beruthiel?” Pippin said, some cheer back in his voice. I looked towards you then, and saw you put on the appearance of brevity yet your eyes betrayed your jest. Your eyes have always betrayed you. “You do not know of this tale, Master Took? I see Frodo must explain to you. Perhaps you can help him, Sam and Merry.” At this Frodo smiled and began the tale, something of his old self returning. You looked to me then, a question clouding your eyes. I did not wish to add my worries to your own, so I smiled at you and made to sit. I could feel Legolas watching me closely, his eyes rarely left me now since Caradhras. His gaze was never unpleasant but its intensity I found unsettling. “A word, Boromir.” You called to me. I crossed to you and we walked in silence a pace beyond them, farther into the dark. I stopped when I realized we had passed being out of earshot some feet ago. I did not wish to be alone with you. In fact, I had avoided it with purpose; I could recognize all too well the peril. You stood too close to me and I took a step back but your hand on my forearm stayed me. Your voice was low and hushed when you said the words again “Do not be afraid.” I would have laughed were it not for the feel of you so near in a place with no light. Your grip tightened on my arm, and I closed my eyes to keep from you what I knew I would betray in them. I shook my head and said, “I think I should not have scolded my brother for his fear of the dark. You do well to distract us with tales. I, myself, cared little for lore outside of the old battles, yet I see now they can be a weapon against the enemy. Pity I did not - ” “Boromir.” It is the shock of your hand so tender upon my cheek that opened my eyes as much as your tone. “Do not be afraid.” My chest tightened, as it did when I first laid eyes upon you, and my breath rushed out. I knew it unwise to permit it, let alone revel at your touch, but your eyes undid me. You have wandered to long alone, I thought as my fingers found yours in the dark. I felt out the surface of you palm, the leather of the glove worn and scared, as were your knuckles grazed with small scabs. Your eyelids fluttered as your hand shifted from my neck to shoulder, testing the pull of muscles. I could feel your breath on my lips; you smelled of the woods and pipe weed. My lips parted and your eyes lowered to them. “Fear is not always unwise. There is much that I -” I did not finish, for what protest I would make you silenced with your lips. There are no words for what your mouth upon me felt like, so slight and chaste your kiss. You did not close your eyes, though when I put my mouth upon yours I shut mine. My kiss was so different than yours; what restraint I had was melting for you were too bright so near to me like lightening. I felt my skin sizzle in the dark as your tongue entered my mouth. There were no thoughts then, only your hips under my hands and fingers in my hair pulling my mouth wider. I knew well enough this art. The laces of your breeches were quick work. As I took you into my hand, I pulled your mouth from my lips. Weaving my hand through your hair, I held you back when you leaned in to kiss me. Your breath was quickening though I only held your gaze, my hand was still against you. “Don’t be afraid?” My voice was so rough that for one moment I wondered if it was I who had said the words. I dropped to my knees and I looking up at you, I placed both hands behind my back. The gesture was unmistakable. No more words nor breath, I awaited you with eyes downcast. Finally I felt your hand lower to my head, impossibly gentle the caress forward. It was the first command of yours I had taken without question. My mouth upon you was efficient but not without grace. Your breath hitched as you came. I rested my head on your stomach and you stroked my hair with your knuckles. “What have I done?” I heard you whisper. “Tell me. What – “ “Aragorn!” Legolas called to you, and though I looked for it I could not find anger in his voice. “Come both of you. Gandalf has found the way. We end our rest now.” We parted and rejoined them. Legolas did not join you at your side, as had been his habit, but waited for me to pass so I would walk beside you. His eyes found mine and their expression seemed almost grateful, though for what I could not fathom at first. Then it came to me: he sees it in you too, though he would never speak of it. Perhaps it is something he only sensed or by reason deduced, I do not think you would have told him. It is not a thing an elf can understand, our mortality is veiled from them yet for us it is ever present. We have so little time to do what is right, to grasp what it is in our power to do, and we waste too much of it. It is not death we fear, but failing. I did not know whether to be comforted by this new found similarity between us or to despair over it. “It seems the darkness has lessened.” I said it to the Little Ones, but it was for your ears I spoke the words. I imagined you smiling, as we crept through the dark. +++ // I am not worthy of your tears, there should be no sadness in this parting, not now when I finally know my people will be safe. No, not my people - our people. I have never trusted words, they are too fragile and with such things I have no skill. I can only give you what I know, then, what I trust. I motion with gestures what my words cannot hold. This you know, my king, you have spent a life reading leaves, windfall, stones. Men are not so different; our gestures carry a poetry of their own, like your hand on my cheek or the small of my back. These things cannot be spoken yet will be remembered, a different oath of fealty I offered to you. // +++ It was a perpetual spring, the light oddly golden and green, yet from the moment the Lady Galadriel fixed her eyes upon me I felt only doom. That she saw into my heart would have been enough, but it was her voice that echoed through me which I could not banish. Laid bare it was insufferable, so precious a hope yet I knew it could not come into being, neither for Gondor nor myself. It was only terror and fear I would find here, or so I thought as I walked from the pavilion they had prepared for us that night into the woods. As if distance would calm me when I knew it would matter not. It calmed me less when you came to me and bid me speak my mind. Could you sense it then, my failing? I thought so and told you of my fears for Gondor, easier to voice that then speak of the other hope that glowed in my breast ere you were near to me. That too you sensed, taking my hand in yours, but I would not give it to you, not after what she had shown me. I stepped back from you and willed ice to close my heart. “Elves cannot know the hearts of men, even if they see into them. Some things can never be, for if -” I turned from you, made to leave before I said too much. “I would not betray -” “Boromir.” Your voice held me, but I would not turn to meet your eyes. “Boromir.” You arms came about my chest pulling me back towards you, your lips saying my name again with the same longing and sadness. “Do not be afraid. I spoke the truth when I called you valiant. If this place gives you no peace, then let me give it to you.” So soft a whisper. “You are not alone.” Your lips brushed my neck, hands trailing my side, turning me to face you. I could not escape you then, nor close my eyes. “You are wrong.” My voice, when I said it, was calm. I took your hand in mine, touched the other to your cheek. “I have been alone all my life, as you have been. I have never feared that fate, nor despaired of it, until... Know that I fear little, Aragorn son of Arathorn, as I fear you. Not even… You know I hear it? That it speaks to me?” “Yes.” You closed your eyes but your hand in mine tightened. “I fear even it less than you. For I do not love what it whispers, they are dark things and cruel to my heart, treacherous. But you, Aragorn, in you… in you I see only… I would forget myself, I forget myself now…” I would have said more but your eyes stopped my words. “So let us forget.” You said to me, your eyes brighter than a thousand stars, for you finally knew what I would not say to you. Your mouth was upon mine, but not like before. There in Lothlorien, you withheld nothing from me. You swallowed my pain and hunger and I pulled you to me as if in doing so I could save us both. Your hands tore at my clothes, eyes growing brighter with passion. I let you burn me then without guard. When you dropped to your knees, it was too much. I tipped your face up and knelt with you, undressing you as if time could no longer touch us. So different this yet familiar, your skin bore scars like a map of your travels. I traced them with my tongue, for this would be our new language. You did not moan but sighed and sank back into the earth. An ode then I wrote for you, on wrist and thigh; homage too I gave you until your hands pulled me from your cock. I was heady from the smell of your scent covering my own skin. Raised above you, I knew at last it was burning in my eyes not yours this time. You knew then as I looked upon you, though perhaps you had always known and it was only I who had denied it. Some burdens one cannot bare alone. You said my name then, and reversed our positions so that I lay beneath you. It was no king I saw above me, no brother, no captain. What words I would give it belong only to us, for that moment beneath you was the only time my life was my own. You traced my features with your hand with such reverence, your lips rough in their wake. You grasped my hand, our fingers intertwining, and pulled me from the ground. You arms positioned me so that my back was against you, one hand griping my hip. I lowered myself on my hands and the grass was damp under my knees. Your hand rested on the small of my back and I felt the pad of your palm so tender compared to your callused fingers. This was the first time I had known you without gloves. He has nothing to guard against me, came the thought. It was only your face I could see clearly, eyes closed or open, nothing more of you but no less. I thought of your expression laughing, how I had longed to hear it all the years of my life and would give any price for it. Worse still the other desire, to be just men, not prodigal sons or lost heirs, and to have no duty but to ourselves. I knew this is what you offered me here: freedom. In the slide of your hand against my flesh, I felt the words under my tongue but they seemed such pale and gaudy trinkets. If I speak of this then better just your name, so I whispered it once with all the aching want of my years. Then there was nothing else but the feel of your skin pressed against mine, the sound of your voice broken and remade as you pushed deep within me. I held you afterward, your hair dark against the paleness of my chest. I heard the Lady’s voice echo once more, as I watched the leaves, so still and perfect, against the silver bark of the trees. With your sleeping form curled around me, I could no longer deny its effect. The weight of my desire had been crushing but no longer. Now that you had released it, I saw it for what it was and realized once more that without action I have no knowledge. I felt our blood pulse in separate rhythm and smiled at the truth of the allusion: where once my heart beat with a sole purpose now it was rent in two. Knowing this, your nature was to heal the wound, more so as you were the cause, at whatever the cost to yourself. It was not for yourself that you did this or to aid a failing kingdom, but for me alone. It was not love which bound you to me, I understood that finally. It would be better if it was simply desire or affection, but I could not deny the joy of knowing its source nor the sorrow. I felt the fear fade in the dawns light, for it was no longer mine alone. You would not abandon us. But at what cost, I wondered, at what cost? Now my burden wass yours and I would have spared you. I would spare them all, but in what could I trust? There was no rain to hide my tears. +++ // The light shifts with my last breath. You must let me go now. I would will you to carry with you only hope, not a sword to cut your heart in two. My brother could explain this, he has always been better with words. He could make you see it, the joy and the glory as I see it now. The Halfling was right to look to you. I have no fear or sorrow, only peace and love. Perhaps there will be a poet one day who can put it right - I asked you for my sword and you gave it to me. // All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken: The crownless again shall be king.