Title: Into the Shadows  
Author: Slim (shapedfromsin@hotmail.com)  
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir, mild Boromir/Lurtz  
Rating: R  
Summary: Why do we always lust for the things we cannot 
have?  
Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings or any of the 
characters within. I am not making a profit from this; it's 
for pure enjoyment only.  
Warning: A relationship between two men.  
Author's Note: This one's for the Darkfic Challenge of 
April 2003. **Flashbacks are noted by asterisks.**  
 
 
 
 
 
The sky grew dark. He could hear the whispers of the 
rustling leaves and the water splashing over the fall. They 
sang of grief; of remorse. And as the cold feelings settled 
in his hollow self, he shivered in the night.  
 
He could remember him, of course he could. In his mind he 
replayed everything that had happened, just as he had upon 
seeing his lover pierced with arrows, sinking slowly to the 
ground, pale and trembling in agony. Every memory had 
flashed before his eyes then. And curse them! They were 
doing it again.  
 
Gradually. Painfully.  
 
Like a knife being thrust into his chest, twisted, and 
removed only to be thrust in again. He wished he could take 
all the misery at once to get it over with, but this was in 
no means possible. It came in short bursts -horrible 
bursts- that he could not tame.  
 
The way the man’s golden hair swirled around his face in 
the wind, to be brushed away by Aragorn’s gentle fingers 
before the space between them was closed with a tender 
kiss. The way the darkness around them was sealed so 
passionately and inevitably when their bodies were pressed 
together. And the bliss! The intimacy of it all! It was 
their secret, his and Boromir’s, and this only made it more 
special.  
*     *     *  
“You’re mine, my own,” Boromir told him. And the determined 
look in his soulful eyes suggested that his words were 
nothing short of sincere. “Long have I wanted something so 
beautiful to belong to me. Never have I had anything like 
that. Not until now.”  
 
His hands gently touched Aragorn’s cheek, his chin, and 
finally - his neck. His fingers came to a stop on the 
Evenstar and a strange look came over him, a mix of fear 
and anger.  
 
“And yet . . . Not even now.”  
 
“There is no need to leave,” Aragorn protested, reaching 
out after Boromir as he turned to walk away. He would 
always persuade him to return, to not be angry with him.  
 
“But why? Why should we suffer?”  
 
“I cannot make sense of your words, Boromir.”  
 
He turned back, eyes flashing with frustration. “There is 
nothing we can do that will ensure our passion. Do you not 
see this? Nothing is left here. It is in vain.”  
 
“Vain!” Aragorn grabbed Boromir by the arm and jerked him 
back. “And it is not worth it? Not worth the ecstasy? What 
about the present, Boromir? Things are happening here, 
right now. Forget what happened in the past. The past is 
forsaken.” He tore the necklace from his neck and clenched 
it in his fist, wanting to hurl it into the forest but 
unable to move his arm.  
 
“If the past is truly forsaken, would you . . . ?” 
Boromir’s voice trailed off, as if often did, but both men 
understood the meaning of what he was trying to say. One 
look into each other’s eyes could tell everything. They 
kissed, and it was bittersweet. Boromir's hands roamed 
freely, claiming the other man's body for his own, ensuring 
that Aragorn was still there with him and would always be. 
Aragorn leaned his head back and gazed up at the stars, 
giving Boromir access to his neck, which the blond man 
nipped appreciatively. Boromir trailed kisses over his 
skin, peeling away his clothes with nimble fingers.  
 
"Boromir . . . " Aragorn murmured softly, recalling, his 
voice instantly carried away by the gentle breeze.  
 
He whispered Boromir's name and ran his fingers lightly 
through his golden hair as the kisses fluttered over his 
chest, sending shivers down his spine. The other man's lips 
brushed his nipple and he sighed, his grip loosening on the 
necklace. He heard it fall into the leaves with his 
clothes. His hand found Boromir's tunic, which he swiftly 
removed, along with the rest of his garments. Beside the 
river they sat, mouths moving simultaneously, and it was 
not be long before Aragorn felt Boromir's hand coming to a 
rest on his ass, which he rubbed gently.  
 
Boromir slowly slid a finger into Aragorn and he inhaled 
deeply and held back a gasp of pain. Slowly, the discomfort 
subsided, and he felt Boromir moving his finger in and out 
of him . . . Soon that finger was accompanied by another, 
and finally a third, stretching him until he was ready.  
 
He felt Boromir entering him, taking meticulous care not to 
hurt him. He placed tiny butterflies of kisses on Aragorn's 
temple, and for a moment, they caught each other's eyes. 
Boromir took Aragorn's face in his hands and pressed their 
foreheads together, whispering comforting things to him.  
 
Then he began to thrust into him, holding onto his hips to 
steady them and their connection, bucking slowly to ease 
the discomfort. In the middle of the night, among the trees 
and the stars, their moans and whispers could be heard in 
the wind. Aragorn's hands wandered around to his neck and 
pulled him in for a kiss, letting their tongues dance 
together passionately.  
 
And when they finally reached the peak of orgasm, they 
screamed into the night and collapsed in each other's arms.  
 
"Aragorn . . ." Boromir nipped the dark-haired man's 
shoulder. "Aragorn . . ."  
*     *     *  
"Boromir . . . Boromir . . ."  
*     *     *  
From his position from behind the thick trunk of the fallen 
tree, he could hear every word they spoke.  
 
"You have a chance for survival, Son of Gondor," spoke the 
harsh, gruff voice of the Uruk-Hai.  
 
"Survival? How?" Boromir appeared interested, his brow 
furrowed, horn in hand.  
 
"With me," Lurtz replied. "The White Hand of Saruman is 
strong. Together we will serve him."  
 
"I failed to take the Ring-"  
 
Lurtz's dark hair scattered about his shoulders in the 
light breeze. "You will not fail in death. You will find 
it."  
 
"I will . . ."  
 
"Into the shadows we must go . . . Swift as the dark winged 
creature and silent as the wind does whisper."  
*     *     *  
They had had their secrets, just as he had had his with 
Boromir. He never spoke to anyone of what he had heard 
Boromir and the Uruk-Hai talking of, but it had plagued him 
as he had driven the army from Amon Hen, killing 
heartlessly.  
 
He knew the one thing Boromir had wanted most was to prove 
himself. Lurtz must have known also, because he used this 
against the man. He brought him to his death.  
 
As Aragorn had watched, the man he loved was impaled by 
long wooden arrows, he knew all too well that it was over. 
The passion he felt for Boromir! And, of course, the hatred 
. . .  
 
He had killed Lurtz, and then knelt at Boromir's side. His 
lover slipped away into the shadow world, and then he was 
dead.  
 
Aragorn let a single tear slip down his cheek. It landed in 
the leaves and the trees rustled, as if the whole forest 
had suddenly come alive. The ivory winds twisted and 
whistled around him and he heard the faint songs of the 
Elves in the air.  
 
He reached for the Boromir he saw in his mind, but his 
hands grasped air. He stared for a long time at those 
hands; not often did they fail him, yet now they had. 
"Why?" The question came out harshly. "Why -after 
everything that happened- did you have to be stolen . . . 
?"  
 
And then, he drew the Evenstar pendant from his neck, and 
let it fall from between his fingers to the ground.