Stronger than Death 2/3

[govigmoombean.livejournal.com]

Title : Stronger than Death 2/3
Pairing : Aragorn/Boromir
Rating : G to NC-17, this part R
Archiving : Rugbytackling, viggo_cursive, switch_bottoms
Summary : 40 years after Sauron's defeat, something strange is happening.
Authors : mooms  (Aragorn) govi20  (Boromir)

Part 1 you'll find : here

 

STRONGER THAN DEATH

 

Part 2/3

 

Brand

Today was a very strange day. I awoke very suddenly, hearing a faint cry in my mind, like someone calling out in grief. I could not sleep any more, but listened to the wind blowing around my small cottage, and pulled up the covers higher under my chin.

These days I live alone, my mother died last year, and my uncle some months later. I loved my mother and I really miss her, but I do not mind living alone. I have lived here all my life and I know everyone in this village, but I never felt one of them. There was always distance.

I know I am the only one to blame, that I should have married one of the young women here and had a family of my own, but I never found the right one. Most women seemed to like me, want me even, but I have always preferred the company of men.

I live a simple life, repairing things like the gates and fences we keep our live stock behind, and I like to make things like wooden toys and utensils. I am not unhappy, sometimes even content, especially in the daytime.

But at night the dreams have come back even stronger than when I was a child, violent dreams in which I, richly dressed in velvet and armour am a warrior. There always seems to be someone with me, someone I can not see, but only feel the presence of. We fight side by side, and I know I am bound more to him than I have ever been to anyone else in my life.

Other times I see myself as a young lad, walking in large halls of marble, already carrying a sword. Sometimes there is a child with me, I am sure he must be my brother, and in my sleep I try to pull him into my arms and I wake up sweating and panting.

For almost five years the dreams seemed to have left me, and even though it made my life more peaceful I missed them. But now they have come back to me nearly every night, and I long for them as much as they used to frighten me.

A few weeks ago a traveller visited our village, earning a meal with the songs he sang for us and the stories he told. We sat around the fire while he told about the White City, Minas Tirith, where he had sung for King Elessar and his elven Queen. He described the beauty of the halls and the large tower dominating the city and I shivered, knowing for certain I had been there, if only in my dreams.

When everybody left, I offered him a place to sleep in my spare room, which he accepted gladly. In my house we drank some wine and I asked him to tell me some more of Minas Tirith and the people living there, and he gladly conceded.

That night there were no dreams, only the absolute certainty that I would once go there, needed to go there to see it with waking eyes. Something there is calling me, I know now beyond doubt, and I will answer.

I don’t know how, but I know that is where I belong.

 

Aragorn

A shadow and a thought has been growing in my mind over these past few years.

 

It is not a dark shadow, more a  friendly ghost, which brings a strange kind of hope with it. Hope – thus was I called as a child, before I knew my true lineage and name, being as my foster father, Elrond, told me, the Hope of Men.

 

The thought, I dare hardly voice even to myself, but it has lightened my heart over the last decade. Now it is growing ever stronger.

 

I have ascended one of the highest towers in the city and lean on the balustrade, counting the stars glittering in the night sky, permanent, unchanging.

 

“Faithful jewels.” I must have spoken my thought aloud, for a  familiar voice behind me says,

 

“Faithful indeed, as are you to his memory, my friend.”

 

Legolas has silently glided up the spiral stair and is standing behind me, his hand on my shoulder.

 

I turn and smile at him, putting my hand over his in greeting. A huge moth flutters silently between us, ethereal as a wraith, drawn to the light from the  burning torch in a sconce on the wall. Legolas catches it deftly and saves it from certain immolation, blowing on it gently and sending it back out into the night.

 

“Nearly 40 long years, Legolas. But the passing of those years must be as the wing beat of that moth to one of the Eldar.”

 

“That would be true were it not that I have felt your sorrow as if it were mine, with each passing year. But of late, you are not so melancholy. You have hope again. I can feel it. And I know what it is that gives you hope, for I can feel that also.”

 

“So I am not alone. You feel too, that his spirit is out there ?”

 

“I do, my friend. It is searching for you and trying to come home. Arwen has felt it, although she has not spoken of it. It was not yet time.”

 

“But how should this be, Legolas ? “

 

“I know not how this will come to pass, Aragorn, and those, who might have told us are long since gone into the West, but you have heard his soul calling to you and soon you will be reunited.”

 

“In death, Legolas ? Are you foreseeing that I will die soon ?”

 

Legolas pauses, deep in thought and shakes his head.

 

“No, I do not foresee your early death. The future is veiled, but of that I am sure.”

 

“I want to find him, Legolas. I cannot bear to think of his lonely soul crying out in the darkness.”

 

“ You will find him, Aragorn, but more than I that, I cannot tell you. Come now, my friend and sleep in the arms of your queen, for you have a heavy day of duties tomorrow.”

 

I allow my loyal friend to encourage me away from the tower and down the stairs, escorting me back to my chambers.

 

Moonlight fills our bedroom, turning Arwen’s sleeping form into a marble statue of incomparable beauty. When I slide into bed, she wakes and kisses me, her eyes searching mine, then she smiles,

 

“You have spoken with Legolas, my love ! I feel it also. He is coming home.”

 

 

 

Brand

This last week there were no dreams, and I slept like the dead, long peaceful nights, that made me feel refreshed and in some way rejuvenated in the morning. This night was different though.

I woke up in the middle of the night, to see his face, not just his eyes, or the strong hands carrying a sword, that strange ring on the index finger. This time I saw his face, the eyes looking at me without really seeing me, grey changing to blue.

So strangely familiar and even though I had never met him, I knew him. A strong face, the face of a warrior, with sharp features and angles. When he started to speak there was no sound, but I still could hear him, urging me to come to him.

Then just before he vanished my gaze fell upon the white tree of Gondor, embroidered on his robe and I knew with certainty who he was. This was Elessar, my King calling me and there was no doubt or hesitation in my heart, I had to go.

Early this morning I prepared for the travel, packed a small pack with belongings I thought I might need. I felt no sorrow leaving everything behind, as if those possessions were never really mine. I took my dog who’s only two years old to my neighbours, and asked them to take care of it. They are good and friendly people and I know they will be kind to him.

My dog likes them, has stayed there before, but still he seemed to know I was leaving for always, brown eyes upon me, soft pitiful sounds escaping, as I knelt down to stroke him for the last time.

And then I was on my way, looking back at the village for a moment, before the woods closed around me. I realized it was strange, I am nearly forty, have lived there all my life, but I only mourn about a dog. I never loved a woman there, never grounded there, it was never my home. Such a sad thought, but true.

As the sun came up to shine and shimmer through the thick leaves of the wood, I began to feel better. I was always one to plan things carefully, but now I was just walking, making my way through the woods, without a doubt in my mind that I was on the right path.

The air felt crisp and promising, leaves crumbling under my feet. I walked all day, only stopping to eat a little, never tiring and never asking myself why I was answering this strange and urgent call. I just knew it had to be.

Eventually I found a large tree, with roots growing above the ground, giving me a space filled with soft leaves to sleep in. I made a small fire, rolled myself into my warm cloak and ate some of the dried fruits I had brought.

After a while I lay down and slept like a baby, lulled to sleep by the soft evening breeze.

The next morning I was on my way very early and discovered a small stream. The water was cold as ice, but also very clean and I forced myself to undress and plunge in, the cold making it hard to breathe. But at least I was clean, it would not have to go to Minas Tirith filthy and smelling like a beggar.

When I found the path, clearly walked on by horse and man, I knew I was on the right way, and was nearing my goal. Now that I was finally there, I wondered how to proceed.  I could not just go and ask to visit the King, could  I ? And even if I could, how was I to explain myself ?

Occupied by my thoughts I only noticed the person standing in the middle of the clearing I entered, when I was very close to him. We looked at each other while a shock of recognition rippled through me, and the look on his stunned face told me he felt the same.

This was not the man whose face I saw in my dreams, but I still knew him. His blue eyes sprang full of tears and he stepped close, his voice thick with emotion.

“Boromir ?”

 

Aragorn

 

“Your mind is really not on these documents, is it, My Liege ?”

 

I jerk back into full consciousness and guiltily return Faramir’s smile over the huge pile of papers we have been working on.

 

“ Forgive me, my friend. It is true that my thoughts have been far away this morning. The palace oppresses me more than usual today and these stone walls seem to bear down on me.”

 

“ Your Ranger is calling you to the open spaces, Aragorn. I miss my rangering days too. Let us take a break from this and ride outside the city walls. We  can take a basket of food for our midday meal. I am sure that if we let the cobwebs blow away, we will return refreshed to our tasks.”

 

I gratefully accept Faramir’s suggestion to play truant and soon, with the air of naughty schoolboys, we are riding through the gates, saluted by the guards and out into the countryside, enjoying the freedom and feeling the wind in our hair.

 

His hair is grey now, his face lined, but although he is 75 years old, his back is straight and his hands on the reins are strong and sure. We ride in happy silence, galloping across the plain and then entering the dappled shade of the woods to head for our favourite spot for lunch.

 

Soon we reach a clearing, just off the main path, where a small stream sings merrily over small round pebbles and there is a broad, mossy bank with  sawn off tree trunks carved into chairs and a big, flat granite block for a table. We have often escaped our onerous duties to come here and talk quietly, close friends for all these years.

 

We dismount and tether the horses to let them graze, while Faramir unpacks the basket he has wheedled out of the cook. We have soft, fresh baked white bread, butter, cold meats and fruit, with a flagon of wine and two goblets. The ride has made us hungry and we eagerly fall on the picnic, until we can eat no more.

 

Sighing contentedly, I light my pipe and stretch my legs,

 

“ Do you think they will notice if we do not return ?”

 

“Well those high and mighty courtiers,  all so full of their own importance, may somehow fail to notice the absence of the King and Steward, but Eowyn and Arwen would DEFINITELY notice. They are observant like that. Women’s intuition, I suppose. In fact, when they realize we have escaped, I fully expect them to send out a search party and have us dragged back to work in chains.”

 

I throw my head back and laugh heartily, which clearly pleases him.

 

“It is good to see you laugh again, Aragorn. You are too often grim and melancholy.”

 

“Faramir, please tell me. Have you not felt it too ? You loved him long before I did !”

 

“ My brother’s spirit ? Yes, I have felt it growing stronger  of late and it has given me joy, but you have never spoken of this to me, my friend. My dreams of him are growing more vivid also. Yours too ?”

 

“Yes, last night I dreamed of him again and it was as if he were right there with me. I felt that I could have reached out my hand and touched him ! What does this mean, Faramir ?”

 

“Nay, I know not. I wish I did !”

 

He sighs, then rises and goes to relieve himself in some nearby bushes. I close my eyes and drift into a waking dream, awaiting his return. Then for the second time that day, I am startled from my reverie by Faramir’s voice, but this time , I hear him say,

 

“Boromir ?”

 

Brand

I stare in the man’s face, an old face, in which the blue eyes seem to mock the lines and wrinkles though. He called me “Boromir” and I am Brand, I want to tell him, but the name seems so familiar and I end up just shaking my head, confused.

“Brother ?’ he says, stepping forward, his hand stretched out to me as if I was a skittish horse, “don’t you recognize me ? I am Faramir.”

Another familiar name, and he called me “brother” ! But before I can even try to speak there is a sound behind me and I turn around quickly.

There he is, the man from my dreams, and for a moment we just stare at each other. My eyes fall on the White Tree on his chest, and I try to speak as I should to my rightful King, but my sight is wavering and my knees are buckling. He steps forward hastily and manages to capture my arms just before everything turns black and I start falling down.

When I open my eyes I am in a strange room. I am lying on a big bed, and am covered with furs. The King is sitting next to the bed on a simple wooden chair, his blue eyes fixed upon me. He lays a hand on my arm and smiles gently.

“You have fainted my friend, Faramir and I had to get you on my horse and we brought you back with us. How are you feeling ?”

I manage to say I am doing well, without stumbling over my words, but I am still very dazed and confused. He smiles again and takes my hand in his.

“Do you remember your name, do you know who you are ?”

“I am Brand,” I say, but I can hear the hesitation in my own voice. “At least, that is who I always was. But the other man – Faramir – he called me brother. And I do know him, even though we have never met, I do know him. And I know you, Sire.“

He stretches out his hand and slides it along my face, in an almost caress. Then the door opens and the other man, Faramir, comes in, accompanied by what is clearly an Elf. I know of their existence, even though I never have seen one, but again there is that feeling of recognition.

The Elf lays his hand upon my brow and looks into my eyes.

“I am Legolas,” he says, "welcome home, Boromir of Gondor.”

The world is spinning around again, but he pours a red liquid – wine ? – into a goblet, and holds it to my lips, urging me to drink. The fragrance is delightful, I smell fruits, flowers and herbs and I drink eagerly. Within seconds I close my eyes and fall asleep, peaceful and warm under the heavy furs.

Boromir

I open my eyes and know immediately where I am, there is no doubt, I am in Minas Tirith. The sun is shining through the windows casting its glow over the sleeping shape of Aragorn, slumped in the chair next to my bed.

I frown, while I try to remember how I came here. I vaguely remember something terrible and I wince when I slowly recall how I tried to take the Ring from Frodo. And even worse, how the Uruk-hai took the little ones - Merry and Pippin – with them.

I can clearly remember lying in Aragorn’s arms too, dying, arrows in my body, and Aragorn’s tears, but I must have survived somehow.

I still don’t know what happened, but being home in Gondor seems like a good sign, and I sit up, just to glance out of the window and look out over my beloved White City.

The sound I make wakes up Aragorn, and he rubs his face.

I look at him tentatively, and then dare to ask.

“Aragorn ? How did I get here ? What happened ?”

In a response he slides of his chair until he kneels next to the bed. His hand cups my face, holding it firmly and then his lips brush over mine.

"Boromir, you are back ! "

 

tbc

Comments

[mooms.livejournal.com]

Thank you ! Glad you are enjoying it !

[rifleman-s.livejournal.com]

"He stretches out his hand and slides it along my face, in an almost caress."

It's hard to take in how each one of them must feel at this surprising event ... I can't wait to find out what's going on.

Just reading of the longing of each of them is overwhelming - it's a most inventive tale.