Title: Old and Wise
Author: Sasjah Miller
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: yes, please
Archive: please ask, I'll probably say yes
Disclaimer: not mine, Tolkien's
---------------------------------------------------------
"So sit on top of the world
And tell me how you're feeling;
What you feel is what I feel for you."
Dido - Take My Hand
---------------------------------------------------------
I'm twice the age you are. I realize that as I watch you fooling
around with Merry and Pippin, practising their sword moves with
them, teaching them how to defend themselves. You are
professional in your teachings, a swordmaster by nature and
practice, yet you manage to bring pleasure into their mastering so
serious a thing. We have made our camp on the top of a barren hill,
and there is time for some sorely needed rest and merriment. I sit
perched on a bare rock, quietly smoking a pipe and watching the
two smallest Hobbits throwing you on the ground, landing on top of
you, each one of you laughing. It is the first time I've seen you
truly happy, Boromir. The first time I see the laugh that brightens
up your face, turning it from merely handsome into absolutely
stunning.
You would be a great father. I see that in the way you deal with
the young Hobbits, even if they are not children anymore; they
respond to you with a certain boyishness that is absolutely
adorable. I wonder why you never married.
I have an idea, but I dare not let it take possession of my mind
because it would completely upset the balance of my life. For if
what I suspect is true, if the looks and glances you throw in my
direction when we sit by the fire at night, if the shiver of pleasure
that coursed through my body as your eyes met mine in Rivendell,
if your constant nearness to me when we are travelling are any
indication that you feel about me as I feel about you I know why
you never took a wife. And I don't know how to deal with that. I
am betrothed, I have pledged my life to another, having already
forsaken the love of one person and I cannot stand the thought of
going through that again, even if Legolas and I have settled our
issues long ago in Mirkwood and we are friends again.
And then there is this other thing, the fact that I could be your
father, even if I know for sure I'm not. I might have been, though.
I was there in Minas Tirith when you were born, I saw you when
you were just a baby, suckling at your mother's breast, over forty
years ago when I was not Aragorn, but Thorongil and your father
vied with me for his own father's attentions. Denethor was always
a harsh man and from what I gather that did not change during the
time you and your brother Faramir were growing up. I feel for you,
knowing that my being around when he was wooing Finduilas, your
mother, must have caused you suffering. I am sure he has taken it
out on you in one way or another. He has never forgiven me for
the fact that everyone he cared for heeded my advice, wanted my
company even if I did not seek them out. Not only your
grandfather Ecthelion, Boromir, but your mother too preferred me
over Denethor. She loved me and the fact that I did not return her
feelings drove her into a marriage in which only you and your
brother brought her any happiness. So you see I verily could have
been your father, but I am very glad that I am not. It is confusing
enough as it is, to have the image of a two-year-old toddler riding
horsey on my knee being overlain with your presence of which I
am aware every minute of the day. You've become a handsome
man, Boromir, a leader of Men, a veritable Captain of the Guard,
someone that I would gladly follow into battle and beyond were I a
soldier of Gondor.
But I am not and that is yet another issue that will continue to
stand between us. Eventually you will have to bow to me,
recognize my claims to the throne of your Kingdom, however hard
it may be to you. And for that reason my heart bleeds for you.
Because I will hurt you, whichever path I choose.
There is only one path that would lead to shortlived happiness for
me and you and even that path is strewn with sorrow. Chosing it
would mean betraying Arwen, betraying the Fellowship, betraying
the free lands of Middle Earth, in all probability casting them into
eternal darkness. Were we to leave now, Boromir, run off in the
night together, we might have a slim chance of escaping Legolas'
sharp eye and Gandalf's wrath and maybe we would be able to
make it to someplace safe. For just a short moment. Because our
abandonment of the quest would mean the downfall of Middle
Earth, I am sure of that. Our happiness would be shortlived indeed.
So there really is no choice, Boromir. We go on, casting furtive
looks in each other's direction, hoping no one sees them, seeking
out one another's company under the pretence of forming the rear
guard, and acting as if we are merely discussing strategy when we
are huddling close, bent over a crude map drawn in the sand, while
all I want to do is kiss your face and feel your warm skin against
mine.
I am the oldest, I should be the wisest, and normally I am in
command of myself, but right now I just want to take leave of my
senses and do what my heart tells me.
Boromir, I can only pray that you are wise beyond your years,
because, truly, even though I am so much older than you I don't
know whether I can manage being wise for very much longer.
The End
Author: Sasjah Miller
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: yes, please
Archive: please ask, I'll probably say yes
Disclaimer: not mine, Tolkien's
---------------------------------------------------------
"So sit on top of the world
And tell me how you're feeling;
What you feel is what I feel for you."
Dido - Take My Hand
---------------------------------------------------------
I'm twice the age you are. I realize that as I watch you fooling
around with Merry and Pippin, practising their sword moves with
them, teaching them how to defend themselves. You are
professional in your teachings, a swordmaster by nature and
practice, yet you manage to bring pleasure into their mastering so
serious a thing. We have made our camp on the top of a barren hill,
and there is time for some sorely needed rest and merriment. I sit
perched on a bare rock, quietly smoking a pipe and watching the
two smallest Hobbits throwing you on the ground, landing on top of
you, each one of you laughing. It is the first time I've seen you
truly happy, Boromir. The first time I see the laugh that brightens
up your face, turning it from merely handsome into absolutely
stunning.
You would be a great father. I see that in the way you deal with
the young Hobbits, even if they are not children anymore; they
respond to you with a certain boyishness that is absolutely
adorable. I wonder why you never married.
I have an idea, but I dare not let it take possession of my mind
because it would completely upset the balance of my life. For if
what I suspect is true, if the looks and glances you throw in my
direction when we sit by the fire at night, if the shiver of pleasure
that coursed through my body as your eyes met mine in Rivendell,
if your constant nearness to me when we are travelling are any
indication that you feel about me as I feel about you I know why
you never took a wife. And I don't know how to deal with that. I
am betrothed, I have pledged my life to another, having already
forsaken the love of one person and I cannot stand the thought of
going through that again, even if Legolas and I have settled our
issues long ago in Mirkwood and we are friends again.
And then there is this other thing, the fact that I could be your
father, even if I know for sure I'm not. I might have been, though.
I was there in Minas Tirith when you were born, I saw you when
you were just a baby, suckling at your mother's breast, over forty
years ago when I was not Aragorn, but Thorongil and your father
vied with me for his own father's attentions. Denethor was always
a harsh man and from what I gather that did not change during the
time you and your brother Faramir were growing up. I feel for you,
knowing that my being around when he was wooing Finduilas, your
mother, must have caused you suffering. I am sure he has taken it
out on you in one way or another. He has never forgiven me for
the fact that everyone he cared for heeded my advice, wanted my
company even if I did not seek them out. Not only your
grandfather Ecthelion, Boromir, but your mother too preferred me
over Denethor. She loved me and the fact that I did not return her
feelings drove her into a marriage in which only you and your
brother brought her any happiness. So you see I verily could have
been your father, but I am very glad that I am not. It is confusing
enough as it is, to have the image of a two-year-old toddler riding
horsey on my knee being overlain with your presence of which I
am aware every minute of the day. You've become a handsome
man, Boromir, a leader of Men, a veritable Captain of the Guard,
someone that I would gladly follow into battle and beyond were I a
soldier of Gondor.
But I am not and that is yet another issue that will continue to
stand between us. Eventually you will have to bow to me,
recognize my claims to the throne of your Kingdom, however hard
it may be to you. And for that reason my heart bleeds for you.
Because I will hurt you, whichever path I choose.
There is only one path that would lead to shortlived happiness for
me and you and even that path is strewn with sorrow. Chosing it
would mean betraying Arwen, betraying the Fellowship, betraying
the free lands of Middle Earth, in all probability casting them into
eternal darkness. Were we to leave now, Boromir, run off in the
night together, we might have a slim chance of escaping Legolas'
sharp eye and Gandalf's wrath and maybe we would be able to
make it to someplace safe. For just a short moment. Because our
abandonment of the quest would mean the downfall of Middle
Earth, I am sure of that. Our happiness would be shortlived indeed.
So there really is no choice, Boromir. We go on, casting furtive
looks in each other's direction, hoping no one sees them, seeking
out one another's company under the pretence of forming the rear
guard, and acting as if we are merely discussing strategy when we
are huddling close, bent over a crude map drawn in the sand, while
all I want to do is kiss your face and feel your warm skin against
mine.
I am the oldest, I should be the wisest, and normally I am in
command of myself, but right now I just want to take leave of my
senses and do what my heart tells me.
Boromir, I can only pray that you are wise beyond your years,
because, truly, even though I am so much older than you I don't
know whether I can manage being wise for very much longer.
The End