Fic: Cold Pressing Path 2 (3/3)
Apr. 25th, 2006 06:08 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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rugbytackleFic: Cold Pressing Path2(3/3)
Author:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alex_quine
Pairing: A/B
Rating: R
Warning: AU, Mpreg (implied), Het (implied)
Summary: Aragorn must face up to his deeds and Boromir face his demons
Archive: Rugbytackling, my LJ
Disclaimer: These characters belong to their copyright holders. I borrow them for entertainment, not profit.
Feedback: Received with thanks.
AN: This final part of Path 2 ended being much longer than intended, but somehow I didn’t want to split it. Parts 1 and 2 can be found below or at my journal. http://alex-quine.livejournal.com/
Word count: 5, 178 words
Author:
alex_quinePairing: A/B
Rating: R
Warning: AU, Mpreg (implied), Het (implied)
Summary: Aragorn must face up to his deeds and Boromir face his demons
Archive: Rugbytackling, my LJ
Disclaimer: These characters belong to their copyright holders. I borrow them for entertainment, not profit.
Feedback: Received with thanks.
AN: This final part of Path 2 ended being much longer than intended, but somehow I didn’t want to split it. Parts 1 and 2 can be found below or at my journal. http://alex-quine.livejournal.com/
Word count: 5, 178 words
The silence in the stone tower room was almost palpable as the two determined souls faced one another, neither ready to give ground. The small boy knelt on the bed, his fists clenched by his sides, whilst the King sat opposite him in a high-backed chair and between them was the stool with the plate of untouched food on it.
The boy’s face was white and tear-streaked and if some grown-up had looked closely enough, the man’s eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep and had a haunted quality, but to the child he looked simply grim. There had been no shouting, no voices raised, but this was a most unequal struggle to the inevitable and bitter end. The child must eat.
He had woken that first night from his blanket nest as the King had carried him into the palace and bewilderment had turned to fright and then to rage and defiance when they had told him that his Adar would not be with him. Even the presence of the elf had not consoled him and he had set his will against Elessar’s with a stubborn fury that brought Boromir so plainly to mind, it cut the man to the core…but did not shake his resolve.
Today, a partial account of his recent journey as a prelude to explaining that this would be his new home, had been interrupted with the indignant cry “You stole me from Adar!” which was close enough to the truth to choke the words in the King’s throat, so now they sat in stony silence, even as the child’s stomach rumbled with hunger.
Into this impasse swept the heavily pregnant Queen, scattering anxious women and flustered servants in her wake and closing the door to the little room behind her with a firm hand. She thought that she had never seen her beloved look more desperate, whilst to find the same dark eyes staring from the bed, in an echo of the child he had been in Rivendell, almost took the breath from her. Carefully she sat down on the bed beside the boy and faced the King.
“Sire, your ministers call for you – some business of an envoy waiting. Arin and I will resolve this together and you and I will speak of it all in good time.”
Elessar slowly rose from the chair and caught her fingers to his lips before turning to go, but she held him and pressed a sweet biscuit from the platter into his hand, saying “Here, I know that you have not eaten.”
Once he had gone, Arwen turned to the little boy and looked him squarely in the eyes, before leaning down to take up the dish from the stool and place it on the bed between them. She picked up a biscuit, smelt it, then broke it in two and offered one part to the child, who shook his head. Arwen laid the morsel down on the coverlet in front of him and bit into her own piece, chewing reflectively.
“I am going to have a baby very soon Arin, and they keep telling me to eat, to keep up my strength, but they very rarely ask me if I’m hungry. Today, I think I am hungry. If you decide that you are hungry, I would be happy if you would like the other half of my biscuit.”
Arwen continued to speak in her soft voice, smoothing her gown over her belly and carefully ignoring the little hand beside her, creeping towards the food. “I will be very glad to have my baby arrive Arin, because then well-meaning people will no longer try to keep secrets from me - just in case they upset me. I did not know that you were coming to visit us. My husband, the King, is really a kind man, but sometimes he thinks too much. It would have been much better if I had known about you in advance.”
She looked around the chamber, which had been made fit for a child with grilles on the windows, tapestries of animals hung on the walls, a large and rather bedraggled rocking horse in one corner and a half-sized rush-bottomed chair beside the small fireplace.
“I have never been in this tower before Arin. Did you know that this was your Adar’s room, when he was a little boy?”
The child’s hand stilled half-way to his mouth with his second biscuit and his eyes grew round “My Adar’s room?” “Yes, your Adar lived here and that is why the King thought you would like it here too.” That was at least partly true. “And that was his rocking horse.” Arin looked around him and said in a small voice, “It’s a very old horse. It hasn’t got much tail left.” Then a tremble crept into his words, “I want to see my Adar, I want to go home…” and crumpling sideways, the child wept bitterly, leaning his head on her knee.
Arwen stroked his hair and murmured soothing words, gradually the sobs subsided and finally the child slept. The Queen detached herself gently from Arin’s grip, pulled the coverlet over him and left the room, instructing the guard in the corridor on no account to try to detain the boy if he woke, but to bring him to her, and she went in search of Elessar.
She eventually found him in the Library, with books of heraldry spread before him. The morning sun pouring through a stained-glass window was turning the floor around him to a sea of blue and red and gilding the silver threads in his hair. Elessar raised his gaze to meet hers as she sat opposite him and laid her hand over his chilled fingers.
“He has a great look of you.”
“He is Boromir.”
“Even to the way that he has stolen your heart?”
“Oh Arwen, my love, have I wronged you once again, bringing him here?”
The Evenstar’s smile lit up the room and Elessar thought that he caught something of Elrond in her quiet authority.
“This child, under my heart, will be your heir, and you will love him dearly. Arin is no threat to me and mine.” She looked at the open books before him where the plain white ground of the House of Stewards was displayed on shields and pennants.
“You must make your peace with his father.”
“I am his father,” the King’s expression was stern, “and I will not let him go.”
“As you let Boromir slip through your fingers?”
“He betrayed me!” and softer, “He was poisoned by Orcs, mad with pain.”
“He knew what he did and believed he honoured you by it, and now you would deny him the dignity of that choice?”
“He tore our child from me!”
“He wished to shield you both.”
“I could have protected them.”
“So taking back the boy shows how you would protect his father.”
“I searched so long Arwen, why did he hide from me?”
The Queen did not answer, but held his cold hands in hers. Elessar spoke firmly. “Our son is a prince of two great houses and I will see his rights upheld.”
Arwen brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over his face. “Arin is a child of a time of spells that has all but passed, my love. I have lived long but never heard of another man who carried a babe as Boromir did for you. If he had not come to Thranduil’s people I doubt they would either have survived. Would you now see them the objects of gossip and superstitious fear?”
Sounds approaching in the corridor made them both turn and the chamber guard appeared, leading Arin by the hand, who looked at them with solemn eyes. Elessar dismissed the soldier with a nod as Arwen beckoned the boy forward. He came to her, but his gaze was caught by the open books and the King turned one around on the table top so that the child could see his shield with the tree, crown and stars. Arin examined the page for a moment, then looked up at him.
“Is that your shield?” Elessar nodded. “You have more stars than we do. Adar says we have only three.” Elessar turned the pages to find an illustration of the Seal of the Stewards with its three stars and Arin traced the outlines with one grubby finger.
Arwen rose from her chair and held out her hand to Arin. “ I think,” she said, “we’ll see about a bath for you before lunch and some clean clothes.” She leant down to the child’s level and kissed him lightly on his hair. “Your Adar will be coming in a few of days and you want to be smart for him.” She looked up at the King. “He is coming, my love…and you are my love, for all time as I am yours - but he was, and is, your brave lover and you are both proud men. ” With that Arwen Undomiel, Queen of Arnor and Gondor took the child by the hand and left the library of Gondor, whose shelves bore witness to the lives of Men in ages past, but none so strange as that of one small boy.
Through the following days, Arin began by keeping close to the Queen, but the guard outside his room became his devoted ally and co-conspirator in forays into the kitchens and expeditions into the gardens. Once, the elf took him down to the stables to speak to the grey horse and reported himself well pleased with the child’s demeanour. Elessar thought privately that the elf should have expected a son of Boromir’s to know how to behave around horses, but he also felt a jag of pride catch him unawares. He and the boy met once or twice in the corridors and Arin had almost stopped pressing himself to the walls to sidle past. The man yearned to talk to the child or to read to him, but he would not make the move to endear himself to Arin until his future was decided.
On the fourth morning, Elessar was sat with Arwen at table, trying to persuade her to drink just a mouthful more of buttermilk, whilst the Queen with even temper was refusing his entreaties, when all around became aware of noise drifting in through the open windows. There was a deal of commotion in the courtyard and men were starting to glance one to the other and get to their feet, when the sound of heavy footsteps running on the stone staircase caught the attention of all, and as the company turned towards the entrance none saw Arwen grip Elessar’s hand tightly beneath the table. The door swung back and Beregond, a steady and unflappable soldier for the most part, ran forward to kneel before the King. His face, when he raised his eyes showed wonder and a measure of fright and his words, when he could speak, seemed dazed.
“Sire – at the gate - the Lord Boromir is returned.”
There was an audible intake of breath in the room and then the hall erupted with shouts and exclamations. Some palace officials pressed forward to question Beregond further, but the man could only throw his hands up, he knew no more.
Into the maelstrom of noise and confusion a man walked and halted just inside the doorway. Almost as quickly as the noise had risen, it raggedly died away as first those closest realised who stood there and knowledge crept along the room. There were a few gasps as people caught sight of him and one woman gave a small scream, quickly stifled.
At the high table, the Ranger called Aragorn rose from his seat and came down from the dais, as the man began to pace down the hall toward him. They met in a heavy silence, for a heartbeat stood, eyes drowned in sorrow, drinking eachother in, then Boromir bowed his head and fell to his knees before his King – and Arwen bit her lip to keep from weeping.
Aragorn leant down and coaxed Boromir to his feet, offered his arm as guide, and led him towards Arwen, who had pulled herself up to greet him. As the King motioned the servants to ask for the room to be cleared, a burst of chatter arose again and then a scattering of applause that grew and rolled in waves around the hall as soldiers, who had clustered in the open doorway, joined in, raising a cheer. He looked up at them then and his twisted smile was sweet to behold.
In the few moments that it took to empty the noisy chamber, they seated him and Aragorn pressed a cup of ale into his hand. As Boromir drank, but sparingly, enough to cut through the dust in his throat, Arwen folded the old, travelled-stained cloak over a bench and said “You are welcome in this house Boromir, which was your home before ever I came to know it. Arin is in your old tower room. When you wish to see him, you know the way. The guard’s name is Lindon. He will not let you near his beloved charge without you give my word, which is arandur. And now, I’m sure that the news is winging its way to Ithilien and we shall have Prince Faramir down upon us before nightfall. I will speak to the Chamberlain about rooms and then I think I will go and rest.”
Both men rose to honour her going and as they went to sit again realised that they were quite alone. The great doors at the far end of the hall clanging shut behind the last soldier to leave, reluctant to lose sight of his old commander.
Suddenly, caught without the public need to appear together, they became aware each of the other’s closeness in the huge space. Aragorn whirled to his feet and strode to the fireplace, kicking at a log that smouldered by the edge of the grate. He heard the scrape of the bench as Boromir rose and felt, rather than saw, him approach. Cursing himself for a coward Aragorn turned and the man who had haunted him stood two paces away, tired eyes searching his face for something, perhaps it was some flicker of compassion?
He seemed not to find what he saught, for Boromir looked down and said sadly, “I will fight you for him.”
“No!”
“I will fight you for him.”
“No! Never!”
“We were well matched, although you were reckoned to be the better with a blade, but you will be weaker now, softened by too many hours sat over papers, whereas I have earned my bread with heavy labour and such things even themselves out.”
Aragorn looked for the first time at his coarse linen, the worn garments of a plain working man. Boromir wore no sword, indeed no blade of any kind. Aragorn unsheathed the long dagger at his side and presented it pommel first to Boromir. “I will not fight you.” He spread his empty hands and waited for the blow.
Boromir’s eyes were filled with horror as his hand began to rise, and fell again, palm open and the blade clattered to the floor. “I swore fealty to my King and I would die for the deed. I could not leave Arin without a father.”
Aragorn reeled as though the blow had fallen, crying out “Arin has already lacked one father through six years. You left me as good as dead before! The two souls I valued most in the world, gone from me. Why, Boromir? I had cared for you…let you know every secret of my heart…and we made such plans.”
Boromir had gone over this conversation many times on the road and his answer was practised, if not said without the occasional tremor to his voice. “It was a dream, to keep the poison at bay, but I remembered your every word and knew I was a burden, a crippled warrior and a faithless man, not strong enough to face the powers that swirled around you and so long as you cared for me, part of you was drawn away from your true path.”
“You gave me a reason to hold to that path, stronger than ambition and sweeter than duty.”
“I was not fit for your company.”
“As your Captain that was my decision to make.”
“Which proves my case – I left you - incapable of taking orders.”
Aragorn cried out in frustration and brought his fists down on the table. “If you had not delayed the enemy in taking Merry and Pippin they might have caught Frodo on the shore. They were always too many for us that day, had we stood together. Many uncertain things there were about that time, but not your blade beside me and in the watches of that night I fought for you as you had battled for the little ones.”
Boromir’s voice was low and hoarse, saying “You both fought for me. The Elven Healers told me that the babe fought the poisons too.”
Aragorn stilled and for a moment the men’s eyes met, exchanging silent memories of the child’s making, before Aragorn said, so quietly that Boromir barely heard him, “I wish I could have been there when he was born.”
To hide the prickling at his eyelids Boromir turned away and fetched a jug and cups from the table. They sat silently, each man struggling to find the way out of the maze in which they were lost.
Boromir finished his drink, set down the cup and absently traced the tip of one finger around the woven pattern of the table linen. He looked up to find Aragorn watching him and said grimly, “He will grow to be the living image of you. King’s bastards can be seen as a danger, malcontents who threaten the true heirs or pawns for the power-plays of others.”
Aragorn did not try to deny his words, but rose and began to pace, and Boromir realised that he was seeing the ruler; that in their years apart, the solitary Ranger had learned grave policy. “The danger most often lies,” he answered, “when the child has been excluded, the love-child unloved, and given good reason for resentment. For my part I would wish that you and Arin might remain in Minas Tirith within my family.”
Boromir dropped his chin to his chest to think. “We could say his mother was a woman of Rohan, dead in the wars, and I took the child to hide it.”
Aragorn stopped pacing abruptly. “No, I will not have you deny your blood tie to Arin. You bore him bravely and have been all the father and mother he has had.”
“But we both know that his birth must remain a secret. For the King to have a male lover and within his household is shame enough, but this could see us stoned in the streets. They would burn me as a witch, Aragorn, drown the child like an unwanted kitten.”
Aragorn moved slowly across the room to stand with his back to Boromir, gazing out of a window to the city below. “Men’s hearts and minds can change more quickly than one might think. I know that I cannot thrust into the faces of my people something they will fear, seem to flaunt some personal indulgence that goes against their beliefs, but I can show through lawmaking and example where I believe true freedom and compassion lie. If there will be no more slavery in Gondor, then freedom will be granted to all men to live as they choose, so long as no other suffers by it.”
He turned to Boromir again and there was hope in his face. “Perhaps for a few years, you and Arin might have a home close by. Arin can receive an education, be able to come and play with Arwen’s brood and you can lend me your skills in setting up a standing army that is small enough for peacetime, large enough for war and will not eat me out of hearth and helm.” Seeing that Boromir did not immediately object, Aragorn began to warm to his idea. “You could join your men with the Rangers of Ithilien. We must talk to Faramir about this when he arrives. What do you think?”
There was an awkward silence during which Boromir struggled to avoid his eyes. “Faramir will not come,” Boromir shifted uncomfortably on his seat, “I could not tell the Queen. It was not the time.”
“Why?” Aragorn strode over to him and stared hard, anger dawning in his eyes, “Boromir?” then deeper, voice chilled, “He knew where you were!”
“Two years. It was a hard winter and we were close to Ithilien. He fed us in secret for a season, but his Lady was with child and Faramir did not want any ‘unclean’ thing around to disturb her peace.”
Aragorn was pacing the floor again, his fists clenched white. “He did not tell me!” The King wheeled around, “This was treason! He knew I searched.”
“He is my brother. I made him swear and he was glad to keep the secret.”
Aragorn’s anger cooled then in sorrow and his eyes searched out Boromir’s resigned expression, whispering, “Your brother. What did I do to you?”
At this Boromir’s head raised and his own anger flared.
“Nay, do not take this all upon yourself. We both of us loved well and hard in his making and there is not a day I do not bless his coming to me, for himself and because he keeps you in my arms.”
The words had been said and then the lonely hunger of half a dozen years burst forth, sending them stumbling into one another’s embrace, clinging with such fervour that breath was hard to take in. Aragorn, his head bent into Boromir’s hair could smell the warm grain smell of the mill, but he also felt the unfamiliar twisted ridges of scar tissue down face and body pressing into him and was angered that there was something changed on his lover’s body without his knowledge, his touch.
Boromir was gasping with the enveloping warmth, held by another with passion as he had not been since Amon Hen. Some part of him feared that Aragorn would turn away if he saw the beauty ruin’d on his body, but for now he allowed feeling to return to his starved skin. He became aware that Aragorn was running gentle fingers down the scars on his cheek and when Boromir lifted his face to kiss him, Aragorn’s response was immediate. Warm lips pressed to his, at first chaste, then questing, with little licks and soft nips along his bottom lip. Aragorn was moaning softly in his throat until Boromir stilled him, drawing the tip of his tongue along the seam of Aragorn’s mouth. With the smallest of sighs the Ranger opened to him and their tongues slid one upon the other to taste and twine. Aragorn’s arms were gentle now, one wrapped around his waist, whilst the other hand caressed the length of his spine.
“Oh I have missed you, love,” he murmured into Aragorn’s mouth between kisses. Boromir brought a hand up to cradle Aragorn’s cheek, smoothing down the soft beard with feather-light touches and tracing the outline of the kiss-swollen lips, drawing in his breath sharply and closing his eyes for an instant, as Aragorn took those fingers into his mouth, hot and wet, and sucked on the tips.
When Boromir began to sway, light-headed, Aragorn released his hand, with a final kiss to the palm and laid his forehead to Boromir’s and so they stood, breathing hard, conscious that they must wait on their pleasure for another time.
“I am the King,” said Aragorn quietly, “so why can I not have this?”
“Because you are the King,” came the reply, “and live to serve, not your own pleasure, but that of your people.”
“I cannot do without you again.”
“Arin and I can leave quietly. Return to a private life, but this time you would know where to find us – and I promise, we would not run.”
Aragorn gazed into Boromir’s eyes and smiled, a little ruefully. “I wish it were that simple, lover. You can not go back to the mill now.” He led Boromir to the half-opened window, through which he had seen a familiar sight. Aragorn pushed back the shutter fully and pointed to where a zealous official in festive mood had raised the banner of the House of Stewards. “The Lords of Gondor are come home…and more,” very quietly, “our son would claim his birthright.” Boromir looked at him questioningly until Aragorn explained. “I think you started his education early…or he is a quick study.”
“He gobbles down stories like sweets and remembers every word.” Boromir said wryly.
“Arwen wanted to give him some clean clothes and someone found the child’s livery that Faramir wore – and Pippin too. The breeches and shirt were fine, but he would not wear the tabard with the tree and stars. I had told him it was my device and he said he had not ‘sworn fealty’ and he wanted to wear the three stars you had told him about.”
Boromir protested “But those were only on the Steward’s seal – and you must have that now – they never appeared on a banner.”
“They do today. My Queen had her ladies embroider three stars, in silver thread, onto a tabard and also onto a white pennant which flies from his tower room.”
“He should wear the white tree and stars.”
“He has no reason to wish for it.”
“I meant him for a soldier, for Gondor…”
“Arwen tells me our baby is a boy, an heir, and his path will be clear, his destiny fixed with his birthright…as were yours and mine. Arin is six years old. He could be anything, Boromir…a healer, a poet, a soldier too. I would have him choose.”
“I can only school him in war.” Boromir’s face was sad. “If I left him here…”
“No!” Aragorn caught Boromir’s hands between his own, “You are his beloved Adar and you and he must not be parted…only I would wish to know him too. He is the son I will not burden with a crown and his smiles would be for me as I am…a father who loves him already.”
Boromir struggled out of Aragorn’s embrace to gaze into his eyes and clasped him around the shoulders, almost shaking him with exasperation. “You are troubled by all that has happened this last week and with fears for your lady and give yourself too little credit Elessar, King. I have walked through your realm, living with the plain folk and you rebuild their hopes as well as the defences for their homes. They can look to their crops and their trades, the futures for their children, rather than to the horrors that might come to their doors in the night. It is noble work and your babe will grow to know that. As for us,” he added, “we will do well enough. If the King could perhaps grant a manor house?”
“From miller to farmer? I think not my love, you were meant for a soldier, but it strikes me that the role of envoy might be better.”
“A diplomat! You mock me.”
“I seem to have little time for laughter these days but I do not mock.”
Boromir thought a while. “My father would have laughed himself sick over this.” He shook his head. “Better my brother by far. I have not enough soft words for the trade.”
“I count on it. I trust you with my life and trust you to tell me the truth. None knows this realm and what will hearten our people better than you – and your reputation goes before you. Do not deny your true worth and a lifetime of service, Boromir of Gondor. Mirkwood would emerge from its isolation somewhat and I could send them no more welcome envoy than the one they remember as Elf-friend, who fought with them so recently…and then, if you must journey far away, it need never be for long and we will always be waiting, Arin and I, to welcome you home.”
“Arin – Aragorn, I need…”
“Come, we have time enough to talk...”
Boromir was gone through the arched doorway almost before he had finished speaking and Aragorn trailed in his lover’s wake out into the long corridor, where he found that Boromir was stood looking out through a mullioned window onto a small garden below, from where a child’s voice could be heard raised in question.
He came up behind Boromir and rested his chin on the younger man’s shoulder, letting his breath whisper over Boromir’s neck, as they watched the small boy and a tough-looking guardsman who appeared to be constructing a kite on the grass.
“How should he call you?” Boromir wondered. “He is too young to weigh down with our secrets.”
“He calls me ‘thief’,” said Aragorn sadly.
“I would speak to him first, love.”
Boromir began to walk down the steps to the garden and he had almost reached the bottom when the child saw him, shrieked “Adar!” and began running towards him at full tilt. The guard started after him, but stilled at a gesture from the King, come into sight at the top of the stairs, and took himself off to fetch more twine.
Arin had reached Boromir and hurled himself into his arms, clinging like a limpet to his father, legs wrapped around his waist, face buried in his neck as Boromir swung him around. The pair spun for an age, Boromir singing a silly rhyme that seemed to involve a question-and-answer. Arin finally joined in, and as they slowed down, Boromir hoisted Arin further onto his hip and walked across to one of the stone benches set in the shade by the garden wall and sat down.
The pair had their heads together in earnest conversation as Aragorn came uncertainly down the steps and wandered onto the small square of grass. He sat down beside the half-finished kite and fumbled with the bows on its tail for something to occupy his shaking fingers.
When the shadow of the child at last crept across his outstretched legs, Aragorn thought that he must be able to hear his heart beating and took in a shaky breath before he looked up. Arin gazed at him shyly.
“Adar says that you are my Estel.”
Aragorn gasped, bowed his head and wept silently. Arin gently disentangled the tail of the kite from his fingers and began to coil up the string. As Boromir came up to them, the child looked up at him saying, “He thinks too much,” and patted Aragorn on the shoulder. And from an upper window Arwen looked down on the little family and smiled.
Arandur – steward
Estel - hope
The boy’s face was white and tear-streaked and if some grown-up had looked closely enough, the man’s eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep and had a haunted quality, but to the child he looked simply grim. There had been no shouting, no voices raised, but this was a most unequal struggle to the inevitable and bitter end. The child must eat.
He had woken that first night from his blanket nest as the King had carried him into the palace and bewilderment had turned to fright and then to rage and defiance when they had told him that his Adar would not be with him. Even the presence of the elf had not consoled him and he had set his will against Elessar’s with a stubborn fury that brought Boromir so plainly to mind, it cut the man to the core…but did not shake his resolve.
Today, a partial account of his recent journey as a prelude to explaining that this would be his new home, had been interrupted with the indignant cry “You stole me from Adar!” which was close enough to the truth to choke the words in the King’s throat, so now they sat in stony silence, even as the child’s stomach rumbled with hunger.
Into this impasse swept the heavily pregnant Queen, scattering anxious women and flustered servants in her wake and closing the door to the little room behind her with a firm hand. She thought that she had never seen her beloved look more desperate, whilst to find the same dark eyes staring from the bed, in an echo of the child he had been in Rivendell, almost took the breath from her. Carefully she sat down on the bed beside the boy and faced the King.
“Sire, your ministers call for you – some business of an envoy waiting. Arin and I will resolve this together and you and I will speak of it all in good time.”
Elessar slowly rose from the chair and caught her fingers to his lips before turning to go, but she held him and pressed a sweet biscuit from the platter into his hand, saying “Here, I know that you have not eaten.”
Once he had gone, Arwen turned to the little boy and looked him squarely in the eyes, before leaning down to take up the dish from the stool and place it on the bed between them. She picked up a biscuit, smelt it, then broke it in two and offered one part to the child, who shook his head. Arwen laid the morsel down on the coverlet in front of him and bit into her own piece, chewing reflectively.
“I am going to have a baby very soon Arin, and they keep telling me to eat, to keep up my strength, but they very rarely ask me if I’m hungry. Today, I think I am hungry. If you decide that you are hungry, I would be happy if you would like the other half of my biscuit.”
Arwen continued to speak in her soft voice, smoothing her gown over her belly and carefully ignoring the little hand beside her, creeping towards the food. “I will be very glad to have my baby arrive Arin, because then well-meaning people will no longer try to keep secrets from me - just in case they upset me. I did not know that you were coming to visit us. My husband, the King, is really a kind man, but sometimes he thinks too much. It would have been much better if I had known about you in advance.”
She looked around the chamber, which had been made fit for a child with grilles on the windows, tapestries of animals hung on the walls, a large and rather bedraggled rocking horse in one corner and a half-sized rush-bottomed chair beside the small fireplace.
“I have never been in this tower before Arin. Did you know that this was your Adar’s room, when he was a little boy?”
The child’s hand stilled half-way to his mouth with his second biscuit and his eyes grew round “My Adar’s room?” “Yes, your Adar lived here and that is why the King thought you would like it here too.” That was at least partly true. “And that was his rocking horse.” Arin looked around him and said in a small voice, “It’s a very old horse. It hasn’t got much tail left.” Then a tremble crept into his words, “I want to see my Adar, I want to go home…” and crumpling sideways, the child wept bitterly, leaning his head on her knee.
Arwen stroked his hair and murmured soothing words, gradually the sobs subsided and finally the child slept. The Queen detached herself gently from Arin’s grip, pulled the coverlet over him and left the room, instructing the guard in the corridor on no account to try to detain the boy if he woke, but to bring him to her, and she went in search of Elessar.
She eventually found him in the Library, with books of heraldry spread before him. The morning sun pouring through a stained-glass window was turning the floor around him to a sea of blue and red and gilding the silver threads in his hair. Elessar raised his gaze to meet hers as she sat opposite him and laid her hand over his chilled fingers.
“He has a great look of you.”
“He is Boromir.”
“Even to the way that he has stolen your heart?”
“Oh Arwen, my love, have I wronged you once again, bringing him here?”
The Evenstar’s smile lit up the room and Elessar thought that he caught something of Elrond in her quiet authority.
“This child, under my heart, will be your heir, and you will love him dearly. Arin is no threat to me and mine.” She looked at the open books before him where the plain white ground of the House of Stewards was displayed on shields and pennants.
“You must make your peace with his father.”
“I am his father,” the King’s expression was stern, “and I will not let him go.”
“As you let Boromir slip through your fingers?”
“He betrayed me!” and softer, “He was poisoned by Orcs, mad with pain.”
“He knew what he did and believed he honoured you by it, and now you would deny him the dignity of that choice?”
“He tore our child from me!”
“He wished to shield you both.”
“I could have protected them.”
“So taking back the boy shows how you would protect his father.”
“I searched so long Arwen, why did he hide from me?”
The Queen did not answer, but held his cold hands in hers. Elessar spoke firmly. “Our son is a prince of two great houses and I will see his rights upheld.”
Arwen brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over his face. “Arin is a child of a time of spells that has all but passed, my love. I have lived long but never heard of another man who carried a babe as Boromir did for you. If he had not come to Thranduil’s people I doubt they would either have survived. Would you now see them the objects of gossip and superstitious fear?”
Sounds approaching in the corridor made them both turn and the chamber guard appeared, leading Arin by the hand, who looked at them with solemn eyes. Elessar dismissed the soldier with a nod as Arwen beckoned the boy forward. He came to her, but his gaze was caught by the open books and the King turned one around on the table top so that the child could see his shield with the tree, crown and stars. Arin examined the page for a moment, then looked up at him.
“Is that your shield?” Elessar nodded. “You have more stars than we do. Adar says we have only three.” Elessar turned the pages to find an illustration of the Seal of the Stewards with its three stars and Arin traced the outlines with one grubby finger.
Arwen rose from her chair and held out her hand to Arin. “ I think,” she said, “we’ll see about a bath for you before lunch and some clean clothes.” She leant down to the child’s level and kissed him lightly on his hair. “Your Adar will be coming in a few of days and you want to be smart for him.” She looked up at the King. “He is coming, my love…and you are my love, for all time as I am yours - but he was, and is, your brave lover and you are both proud men. ” With that Arwen Undomiel, Queen of Arnor and Gondor took the child by the hand and left the library of Gondor, whose shelves bore witness to the lives of Men in ages past, but none so strange as that of one small boy.
Through the following days, Arin began by keeping close to the Queen, but the guard outside his room became his devoted ally and co-conspirator in forays into the kitchens and expeditions into the gardens. Once, the elf took him down to the stables to speak to the grey horse and reported himself well pleased with the child’s demeanour. Elessar thought privately that the elf should have expected a son of Boromir’s to know how to behave around horses, but he also felt a jag of pride catch him unawares. He and the boy met once or twice in the corridors and Arin had almost stopped pressing himself to the walls to sidle past. The man yearned to talk to the child or to read to him, but he would not make the move to endear himself to Arin until his future was decided.
On the fourth morning, Elessar was sat with Arwen at table, trying to persuade her to drink just a mouthful more of buttermilk, whilst the Queen with even temper was refusing his entreaties, when all around became aware of noise drifting in through the open windows. There was a deal of commotion in the courtyard and men were starting to glance one to the other and get to their feet, when the sound of heavy footsteps running on the stone staircase caught the attention of all, and as the company turned towards the entrance none saw Arwen grip Elessar’s hand tightly beneath the table. The door swung back and Beregond, a steady and unflappable soldier for the most part, ran forward to kneel before the King. His face, when he raised his eyes showed wonder and a measure of fright and his words, when he could speak, seemed dazed.
“Sire – at the gate - the Lord Boromir is returned.”
There was an audible intake of breath in the room and then the hall erupted with shouts and exclamations. Some palace officials pressed forward to question Beregond further, but the man could only throw his hands up, he knew no more.
Into the maelstrom of noise and confusion a man walked and halted just inside the doorway. Almost as quickly as the noise had risen, it raggedly died away as first those closest realised who stood there and knowledge crept along the room. There were a few gasps as people caught sight of him and one woman gave a small scream, quickly stifled.
At the high table, the Ranger called Aragorn rose from his seat and came down from the dais, as the man began to pace down the hall toward him. They met in a heavy silence, for a heartbeat stood, eyes drowned in sorrow, drinking eachother in, then Boromir bowed his head and fell to his knees before his King – and Arwen bit her lip to keep from weeping.
Aragorn leant down and coaxed Boromir to his feet, offered his arm as guide, and led him towards Arwen, who had pulled herself up to greet him. As the King motioned the servants to ask for the room to be cleared, a burst of chatter arose again and then a scattering of applause that grew and rolled in waves around the hall as soldiers, who had clustered in the open doorway, joined in, raising a cheer. He looked up at them then and his twisted smile was sweet to behold.
In the few moments that it took to empty the noisy chamber, they seated him and Aragorn pressed a cup of ale into his hand. As Boromir drank, but sparingly, enough to cut through the dust in his throat, Arwen folded the old, travelled-stained cloak over a bench and said “You are welcome in this house Boromir, which was your home before ever I came to know it. Arin is in your old tower room. When you wish to see him, you know the way. The guard’s name is Lindon. He will not let you near his beloved charge without you give my word, which is arandur. And now, I’m sure that the news is winging its way to Ithilien and we shall have Prince Faramir down upon us before nightfall. I will speak to the Chamberlain about rooms and then I think I will go and rest.”
Both men rose to honour her going and as they went to sit again realised that they were quite alone. The great doors at the far end of the hall clanging shut behind the last soldier to leave, reluctant to lose sight of his old commander.
Suddenly, caught without the public need to appear together, they became aware each of the other’s closeness in the huge space. Aragorn whirled to his feet and strode to the fireplace, kicking at a log that smouldered by the edge of the grate. He heard the scrape of the bench as Boromir rose and felt, rather than saw, him approach. Cursing himself for a coward Aragorn turned and the man who had haunted him stood two paces away, tired eyes searching his face for something, perhaps it was some flicker of compassion?
He seemed not to find what he saught, for Boromir looked down and said sadly, “I will fight you for him.”
“No!”
“I will fight you for him.”
“No! Never!”
“We were well matched, although you were reckoned to be the better with a blade, but you will be weaker now, softened by too many hours sat over papers, whereas I have earned my bread with heavy labour and such things even themselves out.”
Aragorn looked for the first time at his coarse linen, the worn garments of a plain working man. Boromir wore no sword, indeed no blade of any kind. Aragorn unsheathed the long dagger at his side and presented it pommel first to Boromir. “I will not fight you.” He spread his empty hands and waited for the blow.
Boromir’s eyes were filled with horror as his hand began to rise, and fell again, palm open and the blade clattered to the floor. “I swore fealty to my King and I would die for the deed. I could not leave Arin without a father.”
Aragorn reeled as though the blow had fallen, crying out “Arin has already lacked one father through six years. You left me as good as dead before! The two souls I valued most in the world, gone from me. Why, Boromir? I had cared for you…let you know every secret of my heart…and we made such plans.”
Boromir had gone over this conversation many times on the road and his answer was practised, if not said without the occasional tremor to his voice. “It was a dream, to keep the poison at bay, but I remembered your every word and knew I was a burden, a crippled warrior and a faithless man, not strong enough to face the powers that swirled around you and so long as you cared for me, part of you was drawn away from your true path.”
“You gave me a reason to hold to that path, stronger than ambition and sweeter than duty.”
“I was not fit for your company.”
“As your Captain that was my decision to make.”
“Which proves my case – I left you - incapable of taking orders.”
Aragorn cried out in frustration and brought his fists down on the table. “If you had not delayed the enemy in taking Merry and Pippin they might have caught Frodo on the shore. They were always too many for us that day, had we stood together. Many uncertain things there were about that time, but not your blade beside me and in the watches of that night I fought for you as you had battled for the little ones.”
Boromir’s voice was low and hoarse, saying “You both fought for me. The Elven Healers told me that the babe fought the poisons too.”
Aragorn stilled and for a moment the men’s eyes met, exchanging silent memories of the child’s making, before Aragorn said, so quietly that Boromir barely heard him, “I wish I could have been there when he was born.”
To hide the prickling at his eyelids Boromir turned away and fetched a jug and cups from the table. They sat silently, each man struggling to find the way out of the maze in which they were lost.
Boromir finished his drink, set down the cup and absently traced the tip of one finger around the woven pattern of the table linen. He looked up to find Aragorn watching him and said grimly, “He will grow to be the living image of you. King’s bastards can be seen as a danger, malcontents who threaten the true heirs or pawns for the power-plays of others.”
Aragorn did not try to deny his words, but rose and began to pace, and Boromir realised that he was seeing the ruler; that in their years apart, the solitary Ranger had learned grave policy. “The danger most often lies,” he answered, “when the child has been excluded, the love-child unloved, and given good reason for resentment. For my part I would wish that you and Arin might remain in Minas Tirith within my family.”
Boromir dropped his chin to his chest to think. “We could say his mother was a woman of Rohan, dead in the wars, and I took the child to hide it.”
Aragorn stopped pacing abruptly. “No, I will not have you deny your blood tie to Arin. You bore him bravely and have been all the father and mother he has had.”
“But we both know that his birth must remain a secret. For the King to have a male lover and within his household is shame enough, but this could see us stoned in the streets. They would burn me as a witch, Aragorn, drown the child like an unwanted kitten.”
Aragorn moved slowly across the room to stand with his back to Boromir, gazing out of a window to the city below. “Men’s hearts and minds can change more quickly than one might think. I know that I cannot thrust into the faces of my people something they will fear, seem to flaunt some personal indulgence that goes against their beliefs, but I can show through lawmaking and example where I believe true freedom and compassion lie. If there will be no more slavery in Gondor, then freedom will be granted to all men to live as they choose, so long as no other suffers by it.”
He turned to Boromir again and there was hope in his face. “Perhaps for a few years, you and Arin might have a home close by. Arin can receive an education, be able to come and play with Arwen’s brood and you can lend me your skills in setting up a standing army that is small enough for peacetime, large enough for war and will not eat me out of hearth and helm.” Seeing that Boromir did not immediately object, Aragorn began to warm to his idea. “You could join your men with the Rangers of Ithilien. We must talk to Faramir about this when he arrives. What do you think?”
There was an awkward silence during which Boromir struggled to avoid his eyes. “Faramir will not come,” Boromir shifted uncomfortably on his seat, “I could not tell the Queen. It was not the time.”
“Why?” Aragorn strode over to him and stared hard, anger dawning in his eyes, “Boromir?” then deeper, voice chilled, “He knew where you were!”
“Two years. It was a hard winter and we were close to Ithilien. He fed us in secret for a season, but his Lady was with child and Faramir did not want any ‘unclean’ thing around to disturb her peace.”
Aragorn was pacing the floor again, his fists clenched white. “He did not tell me!” The King wheeled around, “This was treason! He knew I searched.”
“He is my brother. I made him swear and he was glad to keep the secret.”
Aragorn’s anger cooled then in sorrow and his eyes searched out Boromir’s resigned expression, whispering, “Your brother. What did I do to you?”
At this Boromir’s head raised and his own anger flared.
“Nay, do not take this all upon yourself. We both of us loved well and hard in his making and there is not a day I do not bless his coming to me, for himself and because he keeps you in my arms.”
The words had been said and then the lonely hunger of half a dozen years burst forth, sending them stumbling into one another’s embrace, clinging with such fervour that breath was hard to take in. Aragorn, his head bent into Boromir’s hair could smell the warm grain smell of the mill, but he also felt the unfamiliar twisted ridges of scar tissue down face and body pressing into him and was angered that there was something changed on his lover’s body without his knowledge, his touch.
Boromir was gasping with the enveloping warmth, held by another with passion as he had not been since Amon Hen. Some part of him feared that Aragorn would turn away if he saw the beauty ruin’d on his body, but for now he allowed feeling to return to his starved skin. He became aware that Aragorn was running gentle fingers down the scars on his cheek and when Boromir lifted his face to kiss him, Aragorn’s response was immediate. Warm lips pressed to his, at first chaste, then questing, with little licks and soft nips along his bottom lip. Aragorn was moaning softly in his throat until Boromir stilled him, drawing the tip of his tongue along the seam of Aragorn’s mouth. With the smallest of sighs the Ranger opened to him and their tongues slid one upon the other to taste and twine. Aragorn’s arms were gentle now, one wrapped around his waist, whilst the other hand caressed the length of his spine.
“Oh I have missed you, love,” he murmured into Aragorn’s mouth between kisses. Boromir brought a hand up to cradle Aragorn’s cheek, smoothing down the soft beard with feather-light touches and tracing the outline of the kiss-swollen lips, drawing in his breath sharply and closing his eyes for an instant, as Aragorn took those fingers into his mouth, hot and wet, and sucked on the tips.
When Boromir began to sway, light-headed, Aragorn released his hand, with a final kiss to the palm and laid his forehead to Boromir’s and so they stood, breathing hard, conscious that they must wait on their pleasure for another time.
“I am the King,” said Aragorn quietly, “so why can I not have this?”
“Because you are the King,” came the reply, “and live to serve, not your own pleasure, but that of your people.”
“I cannot do without you again.”
“Arin and I can leave quietly. Return to a private life, but this time you would know where to find us – and I promise, we would not run.”
Aragorn gazed into Boromir’s eyes and smiled, a little ruefully. “I wish it were that simple, lover. You can not go back to the mill now.” He led Boromir to the half-opened window, through which he had seen a familiar sight. Aragorn pushed back the shutter fully and pointed to where a zealous official in festive mood had raised the banner of the House of Stewards. “The Lords of Gondor are come home…and more,” very quietly, “our son would claim his birthright.” Boromir looked at him questioningly until Aragorn explained. “I think you started his education early…or he is a quick study.”
“He gobbles down stories like sweets and remembers every word.” Boromir said wryly.
“Arwen wanted to give him some clean clothes and someone found the child’s livery that Faramir wore – and Pippin too. The breeches and shirt were fine, but he would not wear the tabard with the tree and stars. I had told him it was my device and he said he had not ‘sworn fealty’ and he wanted to wear the three stars you had told him about.”
Boromir protested “But those were only on the Steward’s seal – and you must have that now – they never appeared on a banner.”
“They do today. My Queen had her ladies embroider three stars, in silver thread, onto a tabard and also onto a white pennant which flies from his tower room.”
“He should wear the white tree and stars.”
“He has no reason to wish for it.”
“I meant him for a soldier, for Gondor…”
“Arwen tells me our baby is a boy, an heir, and his path will be clear, his destiny fixed with his birthright…as were yours and mine. Arin is six years old. He could be anything, Boromir…a healer, a poet, a soldier too. I would have him choose.”
“I can only school him in war.” Boromir’s face was sad. “If I left him here…”
“No!” Aragorn caught Boromir’s hands between his own, “You are his beloved Adar and you and he must not be parted…only I would wish to know him too. He is the son I will not burden with a crown and his smiles would be for me as I am…a father who loves him already.”
Boromir struggled out of Aragorn’s embrace to gaze into his eyes and clasped him around the shoulders, almost shaking him with exasperation. “You are troubled by all that has happened this last week and with fears for your lady and give yourself too little credit Elessar, King. I have walked through your realm, living with the plain folk and you rebuild their hopes as well as the defences for their homes. They can look to their crops and their trades, the futures for their children, rather than to the horrors that might come to their doors in the night. It is noble work and your babe will grow to know that. As for us,” he added, “we will do well enough. If the King could perhaps grant a manor house?”
“From miller to farmer? I think not my love, you were meant for a soldier, but it strikes me that the role of envoy might be better.”
“A diplomat! You mock me.”
“I seem to have little time for laughter these days but I do not mock.”
Boromir thought a while. “My father would have laughed himself sick over this.” He shook his head. “Better my brother by far. I have not enough soft words for the trade.”
“I count on it. I trust you with my life and trust you to tell me the truth. None knows this realm and what will hearten our people better than you – and your reputation goes before you. Do not deny your true worth and a lifetime of service, Boromir of Gondor. Mirkwood would emerge from its isolation somewhat and I could send them no more welcome envoy than the one they remember as Elf-friend, who fought with them so recently…and then, if you must journey far away, it need never be for long and we will always be waiting, Arin and I, to welcome you home.”
“Arin – Aragorn, I need…”
“Come, we have time enough to talk...”
Boromir was gone through the arched doorway almost before he had finished speaking and Aragorn trailed in his lover’s wake out into the long corridor, where he found that Boromir was stood looking out through a mullioned window onto a small garden below, from where a child’s voice could be heard raised in question.
He came up behind Boromir and rested his chin on the younger man’s shoulder, letting his breath whisper over Boromir’s neck, as they watched the small boy and a tough-looking guardsman who appeared to be constructing a kite on the grass.
“How should he call you?” Boromir wondered. “He is too young to weigh down with our secrets.”
“He calls me ‘thief’,” said Aragorn sadly.
“I would speak to him first, love.”
Boromir began to walk down the steps to the garden and he had almost reached the bottom when the child saw him, shrieked “Adar!” and began running towards him at full tilt. The guard started after him, but stilled at a gesture from the King, come into sight at the top of the stairs, and took himself off to fetch more twine.
Arin had reached Boromir and hurled himself into his arms, clinging like a limpet to his father, legs wrapped around his waist, face buried in his neck as Boromir swung him around. The pair spun for an age, Boromir singing a silly rhyme that seemed to involve a question-and-answer. Arin finally joined in, and as they slowed down, Boromir hoisted Arin further onto his hip and walked across to one of the stone benches set in the shade by the garden wall and sat down.
The pair had their heads together in earnest conversation as Aragorn came uncertainly down the steps and wandered onto the small square of grass. He sat down beside the half-finished kite and fumbled with the bows on its tail for something to occupy his shaking fingers.
When the shadow of the child at last crept across his outstretched legs, Aragorn thought that he must be able to hear his heart beating and took in a shaky breath before he looked up. Arin gazed at him shyly.
“Adar says that you are my Estel.”
Aragorn gasped, bowed his head and wept silently. Arin gently disentangled the tail of the kite from his fingers and began to coil up the string. As Boromir came up to them, the child looked up at him saying, “He thinks too much,” and patted Aragorn on the shoulder. And from an upper window Arwen looked down on the little family and smiled.
Arandur – steward
Estel - hope
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Date: 2006-04-24 06:39 pm (UTC)I was surprised and satisfied by the resolution, and heartened to see all (except Faramir, oh, dear!) feeling tenderly toward each other.
Lovely job, thank you!
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Date: 2006-04-25 09:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-24 06:42 pm (UTC)“I want to see my Adar, I want to go home…”
--nearly ripped my heart out, but--
“Adar says that you are my Estel.”
--did me in, as did everything around Boromir and Arin's reunion. Lovely.
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Date: 2006-04-25 10:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-24 08:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-25 10:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-24 09:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-25 10:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-25 02:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-25 10:14 am (UTC)I hadn't thought about an epilogue. Hmmm. I'm going to take a breather before backtracking to Path1 - and goodness only knows where that will lead. But I know what you mean about unfinished business.
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Date: 2006-04-25 11:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-25 09:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-26 04:32 am (UTC)“Arin is a child of a time of spells that has all but passed, my love. I have lived long but never heard of another man who carried a babe as Boromir did for you...."
"A time of spells that has all but passed...." Nothing else needs to be said, nor should it. That says it all, and banishes the impossible to a time of myth and legend, nevermore to be a stumbling block to the believability of your tale.
Your characters are beautifully drawn -- compassionate, sensitive, wounded, imperfect but unashamed.
Thank you for this wondrous tale. It needs nothing else, but I too would know the outcome....
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Date: 2006-04-26 09:43 am (UTC)I'm pretty new to fanfiction and was slightly startled, and intrigued, when I first encountered Mpreg (and Wingfic) but it's possible to do fantastic things in a universe of fantasy, so I tried to read each story for itself.
This AU is the world that I wanted these particular versions of the characters to exist in and I'm pleased that they spoke to you as rounded figures.
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Date: 2006-04-26 09:46 pm (UTC)"As Boromir came up to them, the child looked up at him saying, “He thinks too much,” and patted Aragorn on the shoulder."
It made up for everything that’s “not healed” in this story. People of Gondor who are good in general yet capable of being crude and biased, and little can be done with it; Faramir’s attitude – could he really have changed so abruptly?.. (Let me believe – just for the sake of comfort - that he has changed his mind during the past two years; after all, Arven said Faramir would come, and she can see inside things :))
Boromir’s scars are not cured, and there’re silver threads in Elessar’s hair…
But the saddest of all is what Arven said – the time of spells has all but passed. I find it the most heart-breaking thing about the book also, the way Tolkien bids farewell to the magic in the Middle-Earth.
*sighs*
All that didn’t provoke smiles while reading; but it certainly provoked greater compassion with the characters and made your story not easy to let out of my head.
Now looking forward to what you will do with the Path 1!
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Date: 2006-04-27 12:10 pm (UTC)I wanted to acknowledge as much 'reality' within the AU as I felt appropriate for this pairing, so if truth be told their final moment of happiness might come to seem like an island of hope in a sea of troubles.
However, at the heart of it, I am very fond of these two characters and it just seems unfair that they wouldn't be able to create a child born of love...and everything could turn out just fine.
I've no idea right now where Path 1 will take me, but am hoping to get started on it soon and have it a similar length.