Entwine 7/9 A/B (PG-13)

[alex-quine.livejournal.com]

 

Fic: Entwine (7/9)
Author: alex_quine
Pairing: A/B
Rating: PG to NC-17 (PG-13)
Warning: AU, OMCs, violence
Summary: Arin despairs and Faramir takes a hand in the situation. 
Archive: Rugbytackling, my LJ
Disclaimer: These characters belong to their copyright holders. I borrow some of them for entertainment, not profit.
Words: 3,721
Feedback: Received with thanks.

A.N. This ‘final’ part became so long that I’ve split it.  Apologies - I'll crack this numbering yet.  The other parts are written and will be posted over the next couple of days.

 

 

Aragorn gazed into Boromir’s eyes and said, “We will tell him the truth. And we will not finish the tale there. We will give him hope. There is always hope.” He turned to the trader, adding, “and you will come with us, Harad. The boy may have questions that only you will be able to answer.” At this, the man shuffled his feet nervously, but nodded and stood aside to let the King and his Steward go before him from the room.

 

It had been a terrible interview. At first Arin had been overjoyed that someone had news of Illuin and he was alive and maybe they could find him, but then confusion had set in as Boromir tried to explain that Illuin had sent them gifts to thank them for all they had done for him. He showed Arin the purse and then set the box on the table before him. When he had opened the box, Arin’s eyes had gone wide and he reached forward tentatively to touch the back of a dragon, almost expecting it to stretch beneath his touch. But very quickly his wonder and delight had turned to suspicion and worry. How had Illuin been able to purchase such things? Surely he had not stolen them! No, said Aragorn urgently, Illuin had purchased them honestly…and there he had stalled, looking in desperation to Boromir to do the deed, to inflict the hurt. 

 

And so Boromir had told Arin how the youth had traded the thing he possessed that carried the most value and as the dawning realisation of what Illuin had done swept over him Arin had cried out “No, no!” again and again. Lashing out, he’d sent the box spinning off the table and the Harad trader, plunging forward had caught it. Arin’s eyes had fixed on him then and he wanted to know who he was. The trader was almost in tears as he recounted his dealings with Illuin, repeating again how much Arin had meant to him, how joyful he’d been at finding the dragon bracelets, thinking them a noble gift for his young friend. Then Arin had turned on him, his anger and grief making him accuse the trader of tricking Illuin into the trade, but this Boromir would not allow and he made the shaking child apologise, although the trader protested that it was nothing and he was so sorry he could not stop Illuin. 

 

A wave of guilt washed over the boy and he cried out that he didn’t want the dragons, he only wanted Illuin back and then he turned in panic to his fathers. It wasn’t his fault was it? Aragorn was on his knees, his arms wrapped around the shaking child, telling him over and over that they would look for Illuin, they would set him free again, whilst Boromir got the trembling Harad a cup of wine and sat him down.

 

Finally, Arin had simply sobbed onto Aragorn’s shoulder until his voice was choked with tears and they could no longer understand what he said. Boromir would have taken him off to bed then, but Arin became frantic, struggling in his Adar’s arms. He wanted to know, he needed to know, how Illuin had looked the last time the trader had seen him. Boromir worried that the boy was creating a lash for his own back, but the trader, by now openly weeping, revealed that Illuin had shamed everyone in the market that day. He had not been chained, because there was no seller to tie him down. He had danced for the crowd, who had fallen silent, as the beautiful youth had paced before them, arms aloft tracing graceful figures in the air. 

 

To the depths of his soul Boromir cursed the small-minded and the mean, who had helped to drive the lad away and into the arms of despair and although it cut him to the quick, he almost scolded Arin for his anguish, saying that Illuin had been brave enough to do this for people he loved, so they must be brave too for him. This was no time to be giving in to grief. His eyes met his lover’s in pleading and Aragorn came to them, wrapped his arms around both of them, trying to heal some of the hurts, whilst laying out for any corner of Arin’s mind that could still hear him, how he meant to find Illuin, using every means possible. And in the corner of the room the Harad trader silently cursed the day he had ever seen the little dragons.

 

The word had gone out and again they had waited. In addition, Aragorn ordered the discrete questioning of every group of Harad merchants who came to the city. He was steering a course between trying every path to the information they sought and not revealing too much to common knowledge. When they found Illuin, Aragorn was determined that the youth should be able to return to Minas Tirith with the minimum of gossip attached to his name.

 

The wooden box should by rights have gone into a vault with the royal regalia and other treasures, but Boromir kept it discretely in the house, because once the initial shock wore off, Arin would go, at first to simply gaze at the dragons and then to talk to them when he thought his father wasn’t listening, telling Illuin, through the little golden creatures, about his day and about how much he missed him.

 

Despite their best endeavours, all enquiries met with a blank. It was another six months, during which time Boromir’s temper shortened as he saw Arin shoulder the hurt to his young soul, before Prince Faramir arrived unexpectedly in the city, a small party of the Rangers of Ithilien at his back and a determined air about him.

 

He found the King and his Steward in the library, where they were sat at a long table, documents spread around them. Boromir had looked up first as the knock came at the door and strode to embrace his brother warmly, swinging him almost off his feet. Aragorn came close behind, saying, “Too long, Faramir. It is much too long since we have seen you.”

 

“Sire.” Faramir bent to kiss the hands of his King and Aragorn acknowledged the gesture and the bows of the two Rangers who had followed Faramir to stand just inside the door. “Do you feel it necessary to bring your own bodyguard?” he enquired.

“Not yet, my King,” replied the Prince of Ithilien calmly, “but I have had an interesting report back from the South that I thought you might like to hear of from the men themselves.” 

 

At this Aragorn had looked at them sharply and gestured all back to the table, where he sat with the brothers and listened as the Rangers described an encounter on the borders of Khand some few weeks before. In search of information about a missing herd of horses, they had gone to an inn at the back of which was pitched the tented encampment of travelling entertainers. They were a ragbag mixture of minstrels, tumblers and whores, but the border town was abuzz with talk of one of the slaves, a dancer, a Harad elf-breed, whose performances were favoured by the elite and whose beauty was legend. Every night the slave would make a brief appearance in the inn, to drum up custom for the evening show and it was there that they had seen him.

 

At this Aragorn rose, went to the hearth and picked up a piece of charred wood from the ashes. Turning over one of the documents on the table, he began to draw quickly on the parchment. In a very few strokes Boromir saw a brief sketch of Illuin appear, looking back over his shoulder toward them. The King pushed the sketch towards the Rangers and asked if that was the figure they had seen? The Rangers conversed together briefly and then the elder, Allane, said, “Aye, Sire. That is the dancer. Although, “he added, “he was thinner about the face than you picture him here.” Aragorn thanked them for their diligence and emphasised the need for secrecy in the matter, whilst Faramir dismissed them with orders to go find themselves a mug of ale and await him in the dining hall. Once they had left, Faramir pulled the picture towards him and looked at it curiously. Somehow, he had never met Illuin during the time he had lived in Minas Tirith and now Faramir was very curious about the youth indeed.

 

“They should be easy enough to track,” said Boromir crisply. “Such establishments are neither fast moving, nor secret.”

“My writ does not run there, Boromir. We will have to approach this with subtlety.”

Boromir snorted impatiently and would have replied, but Faramir looked up from studying the sketch and interrupted him with an urgent question. “Allane tells me that a dagger was thrown at a man and the boy caught it in mid-air. I do not doubt what he thinks he saw, but could the boy do this?”

Aragorn and Boromir exchanged glances. Aragorn’s tone in reply was grave.

 “Yes, Faramir, in defence of another, he could do this.”

Faramir’s eyebrows raised. “In that case,” he said, “we had needs retrieve him before he is sold on as a bodyslave, to guard the back of some princeling.”

“If his only duties as a bodyslave were to take a blade for his master, I would be less concerned, “said Aragorn dryly.

Boromir slammed his hand down on the table, sending parchments flying and snarled, “I want him home!” As leaves fluttered around them, he shrugged apologetically at Aragorn and reached for Faramir who was retrieving some of the scattered papers, clasping him around the shoulders tightly, “The lad misses him…Illuin…he is not yet eighteen…we want him home.”

 

Over the noon meal, which they had taken at the High Table with the Queen, Faramir was told the rest of Illuin’s story and having heard all, he lapsed into thought, whilst Arwen drilled Allane and his companion, called up from the body of the hall, for every scrap of information they could remember about how Illuin had looked.

 

Replete, the men returned to the library to discuss their next course of action, in good part because Boromir was determined they should have a definite plan in mind before they told Arin of the latest twist in the tale.

 

All agreed that Illuin’s sacrifice in selling himself made their task more difficult, but also set some boundaries for their actions. They could not, even suppose the opportunity should arise, simply steal away with him. Like as not, he would refuse to go and although slavery might now be outlawed in Gondor, whilst the troupe travelled in Khand, they had no legal right to deprive his owner of his services, when he had, presumably, legally bought Illuin, either as his original purchaser or in a subsequent sale. The thought of Illuin passing through the hands of several owners had Boromir grinding his teeth, until his lover distracted him with wine and a comforting hand rested on his thigh. 

 

Their initial approach must be to try to persuade Illuin’s current owner to sell him, but how to do it so that the youth would not imagine himself to be, once again, in their debt? If the Steward or his King provided the monies, Illuin would be bound to feel that they now had claim on him. Aragorn thought aloud that very few of Gondor’s noble families could hold, in a similar case, to such a scrupulous sense of personal honour. Boromir agreed but called it sheer pig-headedness. Low grumbling beside him told Aragorn that, at this point, drugging the youth and bundling him into a sack was an idea that appealed to his frustrated Steward.

 

As they mulled over the various actions open to them, the difficulties that had seen Illuin run in the first place, his sense that he was everywhere an outsider, inevitably came to the surface. Boromir wondered whether Illuin might fare better spending a few years under Mistress Mariam’s care, whilst Aragorn assured them that, should he prefer it, Illuin would be welcomed amongst those of Arwen’s people who still lingered in Rivendell, but in truth neither solution seemed to offer any kind of promising future for him. It was Faramir who, after listening to his brother and his King worry at the knotted problem, cleared his throat and quietly offered up another way. 

 

According to Allane, Illuin had not only stopped the thrown blade, he had, alone, dealt with a confrontation that threatened to involve half of those at the inn. Two rival bands of herders, horse thieves all if Allane was to be believed, were angry, drunk and spoiling for a fight.

“How many did he hurt?” asked Boromir wearily.

“Not a one, brother,” answered Faramir. “He talked them sweet - coaxed, cajoled, soothed a little and charmed more and they did what he desired. Allane thinks they would have done anything he desired.”

“He was lucky,” said Aragorn grimly.

“Perhaps,” replied Faramir, “but he sounds to me a young man I could use in the Rangers over the next few years. Your peace will not be easily held, great King,” he said softly. “Peace is not a lack of war, it must be worked for. The space that war occupied must be filled up and your peace is allowing old allegiances to fracture into uncertainty. Folk cross borders for trade certainly and to seek alliances, but they also come for easy pickings and some to make mischief. Illuin crosses many boundaries, not only of men and elves. He is learning to speak peace to all manner of men, but he will owe allegiance only to Gondor that has offered him a home and true friendship. I would offer him a place with us in a year or so, teach him the languages of the border lands, set him to watch your boundaries, where folk will care what he does and how he does it, rather than wonder at the colour of his hide or the shape of his ears. And never fear, brother” he added hastily, seeing Boromir’s anxious face, “that I mean to recruit him to my shadow-men. I need plain, anonymous faces for that work and your Illuin is too memorable to make a successful spy for Gondor.”

 

Boromir grinned and clapped his brother on the shoulder. “You know me too well.”

Aragorn raised a glass to him. “If you train him, I may have cause to borrow him from you some day, Faramir. An envoy, a royal messenger…”

“But first, my love,” said Boromir firmly, “we need to get him home and then he can choose his path as a free man of the Steward’s house. And more,” he added, “I know who holds the key to his freedom.”

 

Arin had been very pleased to see Uncle Faramir in Adar’s study, seated with his Adar and the King when he and Rullo had returned home in time for the evening meal. He had made his bow and was about to go and put on a clean shirt, when Adar beckoned him forward. Faramir was scratching behind Rullo’s ears and not looking at him, but the King, his Father, had a smile that Arin knew meant that he was going to be told something. It didn’t look like one of the King’s sad-sweet smiles, which was promising. Arin was suddenly tired of being strong.

 

Boromir reached out to wrap an arm about Arin’s waist and draw him close and for a heartbeat was conscious that he had to stretch a fraction higher to do it. “Lad, your uncle has come today with some news from the South. His Rangers have seen Illuin, but I’ll let him tell you himself – and then we’ll tell you what we plan to do and you can tell us what you think of the plan.”

 

Arin turned to Faramir with eager eyes and Faramir, mindful of his fathers’ instructions, was moderately truthful about the circumstances in which Allane had seen his friend. When he had finished, Arin was silent for a moment and the men waited for him to speak.

“I know he went willingly, but I think he was so unhappy that he did not think about it properly. He’s still not of age, Adar. Can we bring him home?”

“Do you want us to go and rescue him? Steal him away?” Boromir asked quietly.

Faramir had expected an immediate cry to the positive, but Arin looked at Boromir with dark eyes and Faramir saw how the small boy had recently come to the painful knowledge of caution and compromise. His face was rigid with concentration as he wrestled with the question, biting his lip, tearing at a slip of skin that started to bleed. Aragorn tamped down the temptation to reach out him to stem the flow.

“Not steal - he might not think that was fair. It was his decision – even if it wasn’t a good one.”

“Arin,” said Aragorn, claiming the boy’s attention. “We think that the best thing in the first instance would be to try to persuade his owner to sell Illuin to us.”

“But I want him to be free. He shouldn’t belong to anyone except himself.”

“There are no slaves kept in Gondor, lad,” Boromir reminded him.

“I know,” cried Arin, “but if you or Fa..ather,” and he stumbled over the name, but Aragorn caught his breath and for a sweet moment his eyes met with Boromir’s. “If you buy him, then he will have to be grateful to you forever.”

“We understand your argument, Arin,” said Aragorn gently, “but if he is to be free, without running away, or without us stealing him away against his will…then his master must be paid his due, according to the laws of Khand.”

“Could we give him the coin as a gift, to buy his own freedom?” asked Arin.

“Any gift to a slave automatically becomes the property of his master,” said Boromir, shaking his head.

“But someone could give the price to you to buy him,” said Arin slowly.

“I could…” Faramir began, but Arin cut him off.

“No, Uncle. Then Illuin would be yours. It must be his own price, mustn’t it Adar?” He looked searchingly at Boromir, who nodded and took from his vest pocket a tiny key and handed it to his son.

 

Arin went across to a small cabinet, set into the library shelves, unlocked it and took out the plain, dark wooden box that had brought so much wonder and sadness to him. That Illuin could love him so much to give him this treasure had been a source of pride and bewilderment – but the manner of its giving had almost broken the child’s heart.

 

He set the box in Faramir’s hands and lifted the lid. Faramir’s startled glance at his brother, who smiled grimly, told Arin that his dragons in their circles of fire, had amazed his uncle as they did all who saw them. He turned to Boromir.

“Illuin gave these to me. I am giving them to you to exchange for his freedom, because that is the gift I choose to give him.”

He glanced at his Father, saying softly, “Did I do it right?”

“You did well, Arin.”

“And will you go with Adar to find him?”

Aragorn glanced across at Boromir questioning. They had not got to that detail yet.

“No, lad,” replied Boromir, eyes fixed warningly on his love. “Kings cannot travel as quietly as old soldiers of Gondor can.”

“If Illuin’s master will not sell him willingly, then the King of Gondor will make a noise in Khand,” Aragorn assured him gravely, “but we would rather, for Illuin’s sake, that this were attempted privately first.”

Arin nodded fiercely. “There must be no more talk amongst stupid people.”

“I would like to go with your Adar,” said Faramir, smiling. As he told Arin of his plan to offer Illuin a place with the Rangers, Aragorn lifted the wooden box from his lap and handed it to Boromir, who caught his wrist gently and pulled Aragorn to him to brush his lips against the other man’s cheek, murmuring “You’ll look to our son.” “And the dog,” said Aragorn, smiling his smile that was warm and young and only for Boromir. Arin saw them out the corner of his eye, even as he listened attentively to what Faramir was saying. Adar had the box now and that should more than buy Illuin’s freedom, but Arin wanted him to come home. He must be sure that Adar understood, that he let Illuin know how important it was he return to Minas Tirith, if only for a while, so they could talk together

 

In the days it took for the King’s Steward to arrange for his temporary absence and to move Arin and Rullo back into his old tower room, the brothers had made their own preparations for travelling. They would journey to Khand on horseback for speed and in the guise of traders seeking remounts for Gondor. Faramir said dryly that they might even be able to buy back some of their own horses.

 

Once inside the palace walls Arin had, unbidden, reverted to calling Aragorn “Sire” even when they appeared to be alone. His caution and his gentle care for Eldarion whenever they played together gripped Aragorn’s heart in a mailed fist. It was also the first time Boromir had left Arin in Aragorn’s care, with each knowing the other for his true blood and Boromir thought privately that, despite their worry, it might prove a welcome time for father and son. He certainly meant to come back safe to them, Illuin by his side, hopefully unscathed. But should all fall awry, Boromir knew that Arin’s future was secure. This time when he rode out of the yard and turned back to wave, the boy had been stood, leaning against Aragorn, with his Father’s hands resting protectively on his shoulders. Boromir had waved broadly to them and then turned back to Faramir, riding beside him, and grinned, saying, “Come brother, let’s go find the lad.”

Comments

[bee-ta-baby.livejournal.com]

Another incredible chapter!
I've been meaning to ask, is there a story I can read about Boromir and Aragorn in Lothlorien? Or during the time Boromir was absent from Gondor and hand birthed Arin?

[alex-quine.livejournal.com]

Many thanks for reading it and for your feedback. Really glad you're enjoying it.
At the moment there isn't anything for this AU pre-Cold Pressing. I think part of 'the August project' will have to be the backtrack to before Arin's birth. I've been sort-of thinking about it for a while, although whether I flesh out the CP Path 1 or Path 2 I haven't decided.

[govi20.livejournal.com]

Indeed another enthralling chapter. You're a wonderful writer, I am totally in awe.

[alex-quine.livejournal.com]

You're very kind. Thanks for sticking with this. The last two chapters will be posted soon.

[lab-jazz.livejournal.com]

Just absolutely wonderful...I really, really hope that they manage to find Illuin and bring him home. I feel quite confident that you would also want that :)

[alex-quine.livejournal.com]

I'm always hoping for the best. It's just it doesn't always happen.

[aragorn-reader.livejournal.com]

Finally, a quest, and one for the brothers!

So many secrets to hold. So much pride to consider. So much love for each other. Aaah, Tolkien!

[alex-quine.livejournal.com]

He (and PJ) built an extraordinary world - even if I've rather played ducks and drakes with it here. Glad that you're enjoying this 'little' outing for the brothers. Anything more extensive for them and I'll have to post it somewhere else.

[rotpunkt.livejournal.com]

I like the plot, but miss the hot AraBoro-sex you wrote in one of the first chapters...:) - sorry, not a very qualified comment, but I'm in need for smut, and you can write it beautifully, I know it...!
Apart from that, loking forward to the adventure!

[alex-quine.livejournal.com]

And I'm afraid that there's not a 'lot' of smut in the rest of it. This tale is very plot-driven (glad you're enjoying the adventure), but the next piece I want to focus just on the King and his man and hopefully that will hit the right spots.

[shalom]

This continues to be fantastic. What a very strong chapter. I'm adoring of how much you think about (and inject into your characters the thoughts about) the politics and the ramifications of decisions. Very well planned and you tell the story in a sparing manner, without too many details to distract from what is a gripping plot.

[alex-quine.livejournal.com]

Many thanks for your kind and thoughtful feedback. I admit that I tend to write in a splurge and then to strip back, but I like to try to keep the pace up. It's just that when you've polished and honed and agonised over the choice of one word over another (and been baffled by some of the Word Grammar 'corrections') it's sometimes difficult to remember what the impact will be on the first time reader. Anyway, glad you're enjoying it.

[shalom]

I admit that I tend to write in a splurge and then to strip back

I find that very interesting, because it's certainly an effective way of writing when/if you are disciplined enough to strip away/hone one's extra words and phrases that you can discern are unnecessary to the story. I work with a good friend as her beta and she works in the opposite direction....crafting the story (already planned) sentence by sentence. Both ways are valid and they equally force the author to consider the choice and placement of words, only at different times in the process. /little happy musing rant

And screw the auto grammar corrections...they may be technically correct, but they don't always make consideration for context nor style.

[mooms.livejournal.com]

Another wonderful chapter. When I read your work I am totally immersed in and beguiled by this world.

[alex-quine.livejournal.com]

Many thanks for reading and for your kind feedback. I'm glad that it comes across as a rounded universe. It makes it easier for the characters to exist within it.