AUTHOR: niephyte
EMAIL: niephyte@hotmail.com
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SUMMARY: Boromir's thoughts on homecoming royalty in Rivendell.
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shards of narsil
I know he waits. Watches. Always watches. And still, I lift one of the shards of Narsil with a mocking reverence. Not for the blade - the gleam of it under the dimming half-light is too cold, too harsh to deride in truth. Perhaps for him, then.
cut the ring from sauron's hand
Surprise is not the right word for what I feel as the blade, drawn even lightly across skin, trails blood. Inexpectation is better. The slow well and trickle of crimson, proof of my family's sovreignty and dominion over the White City that flows even in my veins - now it slows, clots, only a thin line of rust-red against roughened skin. Would his blood run red with the hereditary prerogative he had given up?
still sharp
Without benefit of conscious thought or will, my eyes turn to meet his. What I see there - what I don't see there - leaves me with only the burning impulse to leave. I push the shard, his birthright back onto its spot and stride away, uncaring of the clattering of metal against the stone of ground, and what may follow.
only a broken heirloom