Fic: A/B Entwine 3/? (PG-13)

[alex-quine.livejournal.com]

Fic: Entwine (3/?)
Author: alex_quine
Pairing: A/B
Rating: PG to NC-17 (this part PG-13)
Warning: AU, OMCs
Summary: Illuin’s confession makes Boromir begin to doubt himself. 
Archive: Rugbytackling, my LJ
Disclaimer: These characters belong to their copyright holders. I borrow some of them for entertainment, not profit.
Words: 3,449
Feedback: Received with thanks.

 

 

In the eventuality, they stayed at the manor for another three days until a break in the weather made travelling easier. As the party assembled in the courtyard, the usual noise and bustle was increased by Arin and Rullo saying goodbye to everyone who had petted or fed them. Boromir sat easy on his tall bay watching with interest as Illuin, dressed in warm layers, topped with a thick hooded cloak at Mistress Mariam’s behest, swung himself up onto one of the packhorses that had come from Minas Tirith carrying food for the estate, the salt and spices that could not be got elsewhere, and now returned unladen. The beast had no saddle, the packframe cast in the back of the cart, but Illuin looked at home on it and Boromir was content to let Illuin reach down and swing Arin up behind him. The boy wrapped one arm tight around the youth’s waist and turned around to smile widely at his father, who gathered up his reins, chirruped to the bay and turned for home.

 

Around noon, they stopped briefly to unpack and pass out food then pressed on, eating as they rode. There was a leaden sky behind them and Boromir was sure he could smell snow on the wind. They were making good time, but he wanted them to be within sight of Minas Tirith well before nightfall.

 

“Arin, have you drunk?” Boromir looked sharply at Arin’s face. Boromir was drinking from a waterskin and held it out for Illuin who rode up and took the skin, passing it back to the boy. The child looked tired, although he would never admit to such weakness, so Boromir ordered him to put Rullo into the back of the cart and to bed down with him for a while. When Arin would have protested, Illuin simply pointed out in his soft voice that Harad mastiffs were not made for such long treks and Arin slid down from the packhorse. Boromir took Illuin’s rein, whilst the youth lifted the dog up into the cart and tucked some windproof canvas around the pair, who almost immediately seemed to fall into sleep.

 

As Illuin remounted Boromir ordered him forward with him and the pair trotted on ahead of the rest of the party some half league and then slowed to a walk. Boromir wanted to be able to talk to the youth alone and before they reached the city.

 

Boromir looked at the slight figure riding beside him. Illuin sat well enough, although his heels were working busily to make the stuffier pack animal keep up with the raking stride of Boromir’s bay who, retired warhorse though he might be, still stepped out briskly. Boromir cleared his throat.

“Does the oil aid in your healing?”

“Aye, my lord. It soothes the way. I thank you.”

“Well when we get to Minas Tirith, I want the healers to look to you,” Illuin’s face was guarded and Boromir shook his head, “Nay, lad I do not imagine you carry disease.” Illuin flushed and looked away. 

Boromir tried some encouragement, “You know we see many Harad traders now in the city, although they choose not to stay within the walls for long – do their business and go. Nevertheless you’ll hear your mother tongue spoken oft times in the markets and taverns.”

The youth’s answer was low and Boromir caught an undercurrent of bitterness beneath the words. “What tongue that may be, my lord, I cannot say. Because of my mother I am ‘not true-Harad’ and I cannot speak Sindarin or Quenya . My Westron is good enough for us to speak together of the ordinary things, but I feel hobbled, without enough words for more than that.” 

“Well you can learn. Arin’s been teaching you some Sindarin. I’ve heard him, although I think you’re already to the extent of his vocabulary – and mine too.” Boromir chuckled as they rode together, but the youth seemed too pre-occupied to be coaxed into a better frame of mind.  

 

This, Boromir thought, might be as good a time as any to broach the subject that had been nagging at him. He wanted to know what manner of man he would be bringing into his household, at least for a while. Of course, the youth might lie to him, but Boromir was fairly confident that Illuin might do many things, but not lie. Just then he noticed Illuin blowing on the fingers clasping the reins. They had forgotten to give him gloves, so Boromir rummaged in a saddlebag and produced an old pair, patched and work stained, but lined with coney skin. They had been his favourites until Aragorn had given him the new gauntlets that he now wore. Illuin took the gloves gratefully and fumbled in putting them on stiffened hands. 

 

“Illuin,” Boromir had rarely used his name and the boy’s attention was immediate. “Arin has told me your tale and I accept you do not wish to name your home place; however, you have no papers and if I am to make guarantee of your good behaviour and honest intent, so that you can enter the upper levels of the city or into the citadel, I must needs know some more of you.”

“It is your right, my lord.”

Just then a chill wind swirled around them and Illuin’s long hair was whipped across his face in unruly strands. Boromir raised his voice against the blast.

“Is there a search party trailing you? Your brothers - or a slave master?”

“There is not.” The boy’s eyes were cast down but his voice was firm.

“And how is that?” Boromir knew that he could not leave Illuin’s explanation with that simple denial.

“I ran before I could be handed over and my brothers had to give the coin back.”

Boromir snorted. “They would not have been best pleased. Did they follow you?”

“They did…” The youth’s tone was bleak now. “…and caught me.” 

“Slowly, lad – none can hear us.”

“They meant to teach me a lesson. My eldest brother, Rackshar, came with a whip and a branding iron for the soles of my feet.” He fell silent, but Boromir was even more sure now that he needed to know about the cords, so he reached out to catch Illuin’s rein and brought both their mounts to a halt. They were some way ahead of the slower moving cart and its escort and the breeze had died away.

“Where did the warrior cords come from? How were they won?”

Illuin shivered and seemed to draw back into himself, but Boromir was more patient than might have been expected by any who had not seen him deal with raw recruits, and after a few minutes Illuin began to speak.

 

“I fought back. I’d never fought against them before.” The youth’s eyes drifted up past Boromir’s face towards a far horizon, and he knew that the lad saw it all again before him. 

“I caught Rackshar across the cheek with the hot iron and reason left him, but not cunning. He forced my youngest brother to fight me. If Raglen killed me or maimed me, honour was served and they’d sell what was left for what they could get. If I killed him, now the inheritance was split three ways. I liked Raglen the best of them, not many years older than I am, but under Rackshar’s thumb…and he was so frightened.” 

The horror of his brother’s white and sweating face, made Illuin catch Boromir’s gaze again, who was careful to show no more than grave concern, lest the lad be distracted in his tale once begun. Illuin’s eyes fell to the gloves and he flexed his fists within the leather and patted the sidling packhorse.

 

“I wanted them to leave me be, but I wasn’t brave enough to take a maiming blow that would make me worthless for sale. Rackshar was shouting, using the whip on whichever of us was within reach. Raglen panicked, slashing wildly and I was trying to block and my dagger slipped and cut his neck. It was not a big cut, but the blood pumped out in great spurts. We were soaked and he knew he was lost and he cried to me, begged me to help him and I could do nothing.” Illuin paused and had it not been that Boromir recognised the dulled, shocked tone for what it was, a listener might have thought the youth hardened.

 

“The blood smell was making me sick, my eyelids were almost stuck together with it. When the others ventured into the ring to collect the body, I…think I was mad, lord. I had…a fire in my mind and when the flame had dimmed, Rackshar was dead and…his eyes lay on his cheeks.” Boromir’s jaw was set grimly as the youth before him twisted the horse’s mane in his fingers.

 

“My middle brothers decided to cut their losses – they were the richer by three portions now anyway – and let me go – but not before they ‘honoured’ me with my warrior-making. It is not an honourable story. I have worn the cords to remind me of what I did, but I will remove them before I would ask to enter into your city, where men would read such things as something they are not.”

 

“You have killed your enemy and your brother’s enemy, lad,” said Boromir shortly. “Do what you will.” And he shook up the bay and jogged on, leaving Illuin to wheel his horse around and go back to ride alongside the cart for a while.

 

When the party breasted the final rise and came within sight of Minas Tirith for the first time, Boromir saw out the corner of his eye Illuin begin to tremble, holding tightly onto his horse’s mane. The youth might not have seen a building more than two casements high and even in fading light the white city seemed to stretch up into the sky. As they rode downhill towards the ferry port, Boromir leant from the bay and prodded the mound in the cart, which brought Arin’s tousled head above the canvas. “We will be at the ferry soon, lad,” said Boromir. “I’ll wager Illuin has never been on a ferry, so how about you hop up behind him and explain how it works? Here,” and he dug into a pocket for the wrap of dried apple rings Mariam had given him against this moment, when the boy would need sustenance. “See if Illuin would like one too.”

 

As he jogged off, he heard Arin call out to the Harad and by the time the rest of the party had caught up with him, dismounted beside the waiting ferryboat, Arin was once again up behind Illuin, arms wrapped around his waist, except when he was waving them around to illustrate some important point. When they led the beasts onto the flat-bottomed river barge for the crossing, Boromir saw Illuin test the planking beneath his feet, uncertain of his purchase. “Can you swim?” Boromir asked him and Illuin swallowed before replying hoarsely, “A little, my lord. “ “Well I’ve never known one of these ferries to founder except during a storm, but remember that if you are a weak swimmer, your horse is a strong one.”

 

In the end Boromir was well satisfied and the party reached the city gates before the light failed. They stopped at the second level to let go the cart and most of the men. Boromir gave a purse to the carter against ale for the party and he, Arin, Illuin, and his bodyguards carried on up through the city towards home. As they turned into the narrow entrance-way before the great house, servants were waiting to take their mounts. 

 

Boromir climbed the shallow steps to the tall main doorway and turned to see Arin tugging at Illuin’s sleeve as the youth walked slowly up under the pillared entrance. “It looks like a tomb,” he whispered and then flushed at his careless tongue, but Arin had already surged off to find out where Rullo was. “That is exactly what I used to think about it,” said Boromir, clapping a hand on the youth’s shoulder, “but we have made it a home, Arin and I, and it is more comfortable than you might think. Perhaps not cosy…my ancestors’ taste never ran to cosy, but it is the house of my forebears and I have come to love it.”

 

Just then Arin re-appeared and caught at Illuin’s hand to show him around the house. Boromir let a solicitous maid carry away his cloak and took himself off to his library, where there was a good fire burning and a flagon of wine set on the table by his chair. He poured himself a cup and sat, his legs stretched out before him, sunk in thought. He must speak with Aragorn and Legolas, possibly Arwen too, as soon as he was able in the morning. 

 

Illuin’s tale had disturbed him more than he had let the youth know. The violence offered the lad was no surprise to one who had lived through a war that had rumbled on for decades, allowing all manner of cruelties to be done to those least able to defend themselves…but Illuin was none of these. Again Boromir thought back to the orchard. The youth had struck out bravely, but with no great strength or skill. The death of his youngest brother was all too easy to imagine, the unlucky nick to a vital place that spelt ruin in blood-soaked minutes, yet if Illuin’s story was to be believed, he had then killed a grown man and hardly knew how. Not for a moment did Boromir imagine that Arin might be in danger from Illuin, but there was something at work here he did not understand and Illuin could not control – and that gave him pause.

 

For the first time Boromir wondered whether he had done right by bringing Illuin with them? Might the Harad have fared better by leaving him to winter in the manor, for Mistress Mariam to send him on his way in the spring? Perhaps, Boromir grimaced, I was looking for a diversion for Arin from the boy’s questions about his birth? Whatever, Illuin must never come to feel that he was simply another half-starved stray that Arin wanted to keep as a ‘pet’.   But how, wondered Boromir, should he place Illuin in the household? He seemed to have no particular skill beyond a certain empathy with horses. 

 

Boromir studied his hand, clasping the stem of the goblet.   The youth was too young to be cast adrift in a world he was so ill equipt to navigate. He was too beautiful, Boromir would admit that readily, and too ignorant of much that he would need to know to make his way amongst men in safety…and then what might he wish to do with his life? Boromir remembered the ardour in Illuin’s voice when he had declared himself in Boromir’s debt and ready to pay that debt. By that speech, although he did not realise it, Illuin had made himself Boromir’s concern, who had other and weighty matters already on his mind.

 

The growing measure of his responsibilities was brought home to Boromir late that evening as he walked his customary route through the great house, checking on Arin and casting a wary eye to fires left burning or shutters unbolted. He knew his capable steward did all this, but Boromir could not rid himself of the old soldier’s habit of checking once more before turning in. He was coming out of a darkened corridor onto an upper balcony, when he spied a slight figure, apparently carrying bedding, slipping down the final flight of stairs to the entrance hall and drifting towards a side door leading out to the stables.

 

“Illuin,” Boromir’s voice was low, but firm and the youth stopped abruptly and looked up at him as Boromir descended to the hallway. Even in the half-light of the few lamps left burning, Illuin looked ill-at-ease and rushed into speech before Boromir could say more.

 

“My lord, your great house is a marvel and I am grateful for the kindness shown to me, but I thought…the stables. There must be a hay-loft and it…”

“…would not seem so cold and high?” said Boromir. He took pity on the shivering youth and wrapped a blanket that had slid from his grasp around his shoulders. Not the hay-loft, he thought, but some place less formal would let Illuin get the sleep he needed. “Come with me lad, “ he said, striding across the hall towards the back of the house.

 

They stopped in the kitchen to collect a pan of glowing embers and Boromir unbarred a small door leading out to the long garden. Illuin at his heels, arms full of blankets and a thick sheepskin coverlet snatched from a kitchen bench, Boromir led him along gravelled paths, to the low pavilion set against the south-facing wall of the rose garden. Just now the roses were bare, dark thorny branches, but in Summer this garden house was one of his and Aragorn’s cherished places, where they could open the long windows to let in the scent of the rose-beds, under-planted with lavender and sage. 

 

The pavilion had been shut up for the Winter, but Boromir knew it for a sturdy structure and they could light the brazier to take the chill off the air. He produced the key from a pocket and unlocked the side door, telling Illuin to wait until he had lamps lit. The burning embers set two oil lamps aflame and as he called Illuin in, he was stacking some seasoned wood from the log-basket in the iron brazier. The scent of applewood started to fill the room as the resin on some of the logs caught light. Boromir checked that stray sparks could not reach beyond the flagged floor around the fireplace and he leaned into the chimneybreast to pull the chain that would crack open the vent. Boromir straightened up and looked around. Illuin was setting his blankets down on the wide day-bed. Then he drifted across to the little table piled with books near the window. Boromir went to shake out the coverlet and swept his hand over the day-bed. It was perfectly dry, if not particularly warm.

 

“Illuin, you can look at the books in the morning,” said Boromir firmly, “here, we’ll put the sheepskin underneath you. In you get lad,” and he swathed the slight figure with the blankets, careful to tuck one in around his feet and putting another, folded, beneath his head.

 

“Thank you, my lord.” The whispered words, followed by a stifled yawn, barely reached Boromir’s ears. He snuffed out one of the lamps, but left the other burning low and as he gently closed the door and started back up the gravelled path, Boromir was wishing fervently that Aragorn was with him.

 

His plea to Morwinyon had been so heart-felt that in the eventuality, Boromir was not surprised to catch the tang of pipeweed on the night air, as he approached the house. The tall figure leaning against the kitchen door came to him the last few steps and he was enveloped in strong arms, and heat that surged the length of his body and pooled in his groin as Aragorn laid his bearded cheek against his face. The men growled low in their chests, and rubbed against eachother like great cats, licking and nipping along necks, at the tender skin under jawlines. Finally, Boromir’s lips found his King’s mouth and silenced him with a kiss that seemed to Aragorn to reach into his soul and claim it anew. 

 

When they broke apart, giddy from sensation and the lack of breath, Aragorn laid his forehead on Boromir’s chest, whilst the other stroked his hair and said ruefully, “Do I want to know how you got in here?” 

“Garden walls – six of them,” sighed Aragorn, his tongue slipping out to explore the hollow at the base of Boromir’s throat, who groaned, gasping,

“And nary a dog nor a watchman to raise the alarm.” 

“They all know me by now.”

 

Boromir snorted and then rolled his hips, dragging his swollen cock hard against Aragorn’s length, who went to moan but Boromir laid a finger against his lips and whispered in his ear,

“Will you lie with me tonight, Elessar Telcontar?” 

“That I will,” breathed the reply, “although….” 

“Although..?” 

Aragorn lifted his head and looked Boromir in the eye. “Somebody is sleeping in our bed.” 

“Oh, my love, such tales I have to tell you.”

 

 

TBC

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Comments

[halszka.livejournal.com]

OMG, I suspect that the boy had a some horrific history behind. I hope that now when he meet good people, his life will be better. Boromir and Aragorn are just perfect. I'm waiting for continuation, and thank you.

[alex-quine.livejournal.com]

Glad it's working for you. Thankyou for feeding back.

[ribby.livejournal.com]

Oh, the poor boy! He couldn't have fared better than to be rescued by Boromir and Aragorn, though--they will be good for him.

Still enthralled by your world and your story--and waiting for the next part with anticipation!

~Kris

[alex-quine.livejournal.com]

Many thanks for your kind comments. I'm glad you like it.

[aragorn-reader.livejournal.com]

Aragorn and Boromir rubbing like great cats!

Aragorn slipping over garden walls!

*rubs hands in delighted anticipation*

[alex-quine.livejournal.com]

I think their challenge will be to find the time for eachother that they'd like to spend together, particularly as other problems become more complicated...but that should make time together all the sweeter.

[shalom]

Getting another chapter is a wonderful treat. The story just pulls me along and I can't wait to learn more as you reveal more, but leave much uncovered. Well done.

[alex-quine.livejournal.com]

Thankyou so much for reading and feeding back. I'm glad you're enjoying it.

[mooms.livejournal.com]

Another wonderful chapter and as beautifully written as always. I can't wait to read more.

[alex-quine.livejournal.com]

I'll try not to be too long about it. So glad that you like this and thanks for the encouragement.

[lab-jazz.livejournal.com]

You're a wonderful writer and I can't wait to read more of your work. This story is mind boggling great...it takes my breath away. I always read it slowly and digest every word because I don't want to come to the end too quickly.

[alex-quine.livejournal.com]

You're very kind. Thanks so much for the encouragement and I'm glad you like this one.

[rotpunkt.livejournal.com]

Very intriguing plot, but Aragorn's appearance is the best moment - I could feel how much they missed each other and how happy and excited they are with body and soul... !

[alex-quine.livejournal.com]

I think I probably like that moment the best too.