FIC: NO STAIN
AUTHOR: Lily Baggins
RATING: PG
PAIRING: Frodo/Boromir, Frodo/Aragorn implied
Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises and New Line Productions, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time.
Author's Note: This fic is in response to the FrodoSlash Challenge to write a story in which your pairing celebrates a Middle-earth equivalent of Valentine's Day. This is my own paltry contribution. It's both book and movie canon, and of course, AU. The holiday referred to therein is of my own making, but there was such a king, and his story is indeed in the appendix of ROTK. Also, the date is correct.
*****
FEBRUARY 14, 3019
The hobbit sat huddled in a ball with his knees drawn up, attempting to remain as small and invisible as possible against the trunk of a great silver mallorn. He wanted to be alone . . . he didn't know if he could bear facing anyone at that moment, for Galadriel's mirror, and her words, kept coming back to haunt him.
*He will try to take the Ring. You know of whom I speak.*
Boromir, of course. A man of honor, to be sure, but just a man, with a man's weaknesses. The Ring, of course. And Frodo, for the other. The two had been lovers for some days, and the hobbit now wondered if he'd made a grave mistake.
"Ah, there you are, Frodo."
Frodo started at the sound of Aragorn approaching. The ranger's face was concerned, his steps tentative. "We are to meet with the Lord and Lady tonight, Frodo, to discuss the best path to take tomorrow upon our departure. I'm sorry to intrude on your privacy . . . are you unwell?"
"No, I'm fine." Frodo sighed and rubbed his eyes, nearly unable to keep the tears at bay.
Giving the hobbit a reproachful look, Aragorn slid to his knees, kneeling in front of Frodo and gently cupping his chin in one hand. "Then why are you crying? It has something to do with Boromir, does it not?"
Nodding, Frodo sniffed, feeling enough at ease with Aragorn to discuss the matter somewhat.
"What has he done?" the ranger continued, his face grim. "If he has hurt you in any way . . ."
"No, not at all. He's done nothing. It's just . . . something the Lady Galadriel foresaw. That he might . . . might be tempted to take the Ring." The words were a mere whisper as unconsciously, Frodo looked down and clutched the trinket of gold, turning it between his fingers. "I've seen the way he looks at the Ring and heard his talk of it. I know this this to be true."
Biting his lip, Aragorn sat down next to the hobbit, resting his arms on his knees. "So I have suspected, Frodo, and I am sorry. You know I would never presume to tell you what to do, but perhaps---perhaps you should reconsider your current situation with Boromir."
At this Frodo turned his tear-streaked face angrily to Aragorn, blue eyes flashing. "How? We are to meet up tonight . . . he has something special planned. How can I break his heart by refusing him? Do you know what today is, Aragorn?"
The ranger shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Frodo."
"Then I shall tell you."
*****
That very morning, Frodo had woken up refreshed, yawning and stretching on his comfortable couch in the Pavilion set up by the Galadhrim among the huge trees. It seemed---*had been*---forever since Frodo had slept in a comfortable bed, and the feeling was heavenly. As he turned over, his eyes immediately sought the couch at the far end, and the hobbit blushed when he saw that the man resting there had entertained the same idea.
Boromir was gazing at him, his lips curved into a mischievous smile; the look in his eyes speaking his thoughts quite clearly and causing Frodo to redden. Looking around, Frodo was happy to see that the other hobbits were still slumbering, Aragorn's bed was empty, and Legolas, as usual, was sleeping elsewhere, if indeed he took any rest at all.
Cautiously---very cautiously---Frodo crept off his low couch on quiet hobbit feet and tiptoed to the end of the Pavilion, grinning as Boromir pulled the covers aside and welcomed him with open arms. Frodo scooted close and snuggled against the man, rubbing his face against Boromir's neck and breathing in his lover's leathery, rather-citrusy-due-to-elven-soap smell. He was, for the moment, perfectly content.
"You do know what day this is, do you not?" Boromir whispered, absently running his fingers through Frodo's curls.
"Mmm-hmm. I was hoping it would be the day we'd have some time alone together." Oh yes, more than anything Frodo wanted the man to himself, for as long as he wanted him. Since they'd discovered their feelings for each other deep in the mines of Moria, they'd had the chance to partake of only a few hurried fumblings in the dark. Good fumblings, full of hard muscle and soft skin and sweat and intense release, but few, and the hobbit was eager for more.
Staring at the sunlight filtering through the cloth above his head, Boromir continued talking. "Ah, it is a day to spend together, Frodo. It is Valacar's Day. I'm only amazed I did not remember it before."
Frodo rose up on one elbow to stare at Boromir, scowling in mock irritation. "What in the Shire is Valacar's Day? It must be something Gondorian, of course."
"Of course," the man said, laughing. "It is a Gondorian holiday, a day for lovers to celebrate their love, to give one another gifts and cherish each other."
"Cherish?"
"Indeed. Would you like to know the story?"
Frodo mulled this over for a moment. He *did* love tales of history. "Of course. Do tell."
"Very well." Hugging the hobbit close and rubbing a large hand up and down Frodo's thigh, Boromir began his tale. "King Valacar of Gondor was a Dunadan who fell deeply in love and married a woman of a shorter life-span than he. Others, concerned that he was marrying someone of lesser status, nevertheless could not persuade him to do otherwise, and when his son, Eldacar, was born, the Dunedain would not accept Eldacar as the heir to the throne. A great war broke out in Gondor, and Eldacar's enemies fled to Umbar, where they remained as exiles. That is why, even today, Umbar and Gondor are at war."
Frodo eyes widened, as they always did when someone regaled him with a tale of the White City. "Truly? And today is the day of remembrance? How did that come about?"
Boromir shook his head as his mouth sought Frodo's, kissing lightly. "I know not. I only know that King Valacar's love for his wife is honored, even today, for he never parted from her despite the pressure to do so. In Minas Tirith, creamy flower blossoms are given to one another and gifts exchanged. I am only sorry I don't have a gift for you this morning."
"This is mathom enough." Responding eagerly to the man's advances, Frodo returned the wet kiss, stopping himself as he remembered their companions could wake any moment. The others knew of the relationship, and no one had commented on it, but Frodo, being a private person, preferred to keep his and Boromir's public displays to a minimum.
And Frodo distinctly felt that Aragorn didn't approve. The ranger would never say anything, but the hobbit had noticed how Aragorn absented himself whenever possible when Boromir and Frodo were together. It was a known fact that the two had argued in the past over taking the Ring to Minas Tirith, among other things, and that Aragorn did not wholly trust Boromir.
"So," Boromir said, eyeing Frodo, "what shall we do today to make it special? It is a day for lovers, after all."
"Yes," Frodo agreed, feeling almost shy suddenly. "I think I would . . . I think I would like to go off somewhere and have a private luncheon . . . and then you."
"Me? I'm sure that can be arranged."
***
The mallorn tree was hard and unyielding against Frodo's backbone as he finished, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "So you see, Aragorn? I can't do that to him today, I just can't. I have to meet him . . . and at least try to pretend that everything is all right."
Aragorn said nothing for long moments. "Then you must do what you must do." Reaching forward, he traced Frodo's lips lightly with one finger. "Knowing that Boromir has brought you to tears . . . rips my heart out. If there is anything I can do, you've only to tell me."
"I know, and I thank you. Perhaps . . . well, perhaps the Lady Galadriel was incorrect. Maybe she saw something that will never happen."
The ranger looked skeptical. "Perhaps, but the Lady is far wiser than you or me, Frodo, and her advice not to be taken lightly. He is an honorable man, is Boromir, but my heart tells me that once we are out of the safety of Lothlorien, you must be very careful."
Frodo nodded, silent, as Aragorn continued.
"I am sorry for saying this, but I cannot help wanting to protect you. And it has nothing to do with the Ring, Frodo . . . I would not see anyone bring you pain."
The hobbit smiled then, extreme gratitude flooding his mind at Aragorn's words. "I appreciate your help, Aragorn," he muttered, and the ranger stood and clasped the hobbit's shoulder briefly, seeming to sense Frodo's need to be alone.
"I will make my way back, then, and see you when the Company meets later." He turned and gave Frodo a wry and somewhat regretful smile. "And I promise, we shall not keep you too long."
Nodding, the hobbit sighed and closed his eyes, feeling the life-blood of the tree running through its trunk. Strange, he mused, how every plant and blade of grass seemed so alive in Lothlorien. A remarkable and exquisite place . . . and he should definitely take the time to enjoy it.
And being with Boromir, perhaps. Especially since it was . . . what was it? Valacar's Day, yes. After all, the Lady Galadriel saw much, but what if she was mistaken? Yes, perhaps Frodo's doubts and fears were unfounded. Perhaps Galadriel was incorrect----
"Ah, my sweet Frodo, there you are." Boromir walked up, the sight of his long surcoat swaying over powerful thighs giving the hobbit a surge of goosebumps. "Come, there's something very nice waiting for us nearby. And then you can tell me what you've been doing all afternoon, as I have missed you."
Smiling and hoping his earlier tears were not evident, Frodo stood, holding his hand out. "I'm ready. You've only to lead the way."
Taking the hobbit's hand in his own, Boromir gladly did---to a shimmering cloth set under the trees, far away from any other living beings. Silver elf lanterns hung from boughs above, giving the place a soft glow. And the cloth boasted all manner of food, including, to Frodo's unbelievable delight---mushrooms.
"They are difficult to find, but I was told that for the Ring-bearer, anything was possible," Boromir said, leaning down to kiss Frodo's head. "Sit."
Frodo did, his stomach growling, as he bit into a juicy mushroom. Perhaps . . . perhaps he should indeed forget the day's events for a time. Perhaps the Lady was wrong. It might never come to pass, that Boromir would attempt to steal the Ring. No, Frodo told himself emphatically, it didn't bear worrying about just now.
For it might never come to pass at all.
The End
AUTHOR: Lily Baggins
RATING: PG
PAIRING: Frodo/Boromir, Frodo/Aragorn implied
Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises and New Line Productions, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time.
Author's Note: This fic is in response to the FrodoSlash Challenge to write a story in which your pairing celebrates a Middle-earth equivalent of Valentine's Day. This is my own paltry contribution. It's both book and movie canon, and of course, AU. The holiday referred to therein is of my own making, but there was such a king, and his story is indeed in the appendix of ROTK. Also, the date is correct.
*****
FEBRUARY 14, 3019
The hobbit sat huddled in a ball with his knees drawn up, attempting to remain as small and invisible as possible against the trunk of a great silver mallorn. He wanted to be alone . . . he didn't know if he could bear facing anyone at that moment, for Galadriel's mirror, and her words, kept coming back to haunt him.
*He will try to take the Ring. You know of whom I speak.*
Boromir, of course. A man of honor, to be sure, but just a man, with a man's weaknesses. The Ring, of course. And Frodo, for the other. The two had been lovers for some days, and the hobbit now wondered if he'd made a grave mistake.
"Ah, there you are, Frodo."
Frodo started at the sound of Aragorn approaching. The ranger's face was concerned, his steps tentative. "We are to meet with the Lord and Lady tonight, Frodo, to discuss the best path to take tomorrow upon our departure. I'm sorry to intrude on your privacy . . . are you unwell?"
"No, I'm fine." Frodo sighed and rubbed his eyes, nearly unable to keep the tears at bay.
Giving the hobbit a reproachful look, Aragorn slid to his knees, kneeling in front of Frodo and gently cupping his chin in one hand. "Then why are you crying? It has something to do with Boromir, does it not?"
Nodding, Frodo sniffed, feeling enough at ease with Aragorn to discuss the matter somewhat.
"What has he done?" the ranger continued, his face grim. "If he has hurt you in any way . . ."
"No, not at all. He's done nothing. It's just . . . something the Lady Galadriel foresaw. That he might . . . might be tempted to take the Ring." The words were a mere whisper as unconsciously, Frodo looked down and clutched the trinket of gold, turning it between his fingers. "I've seen the way he looks at the Ring and heard his talk of it. I know this this to be true."
Biting his lip, Aragorn sat down next to the hobbit, resting his arms on his knees. "So I have suspected, Frodo, and I am sorry. You know I would never presume to tell you what to do, but perhaps---perhaps you should reconsider your current situation with Boromir."
At this Frodo turned his tear-streaked face angrily to Aragorn, blue eyes flashing. "How? We are to meet up tonight . . . he has something special planned. How can I break his heart by refusing him? Do you know what today is, Aragorn?"
The ranger shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Frodo."
"Then I shall tell you."
*****
That very morning, Frodo had woken up refreshed, yawning and stretching on his comfortable couch in the Pavilion set up by the Galadhrim among the huge trees. It seemed---*had been*---forever since Frodo had slept in a comfortable bed, and the feeling was heavenly. As he turned over, his eyes immediately sought the couch at the far end, and the hobbit blushed when he saw that the man resting there had entertained the same idea.
Boromir was gazing at him, his lips curved into a mischievous smile; the look in his eyes speaking his thoughts quite clearly and causing Frodo to redden. Looking around, Frodo was happy to see that the other hobbits were still slumbering, Aragorn's bed was empty, and Legolas, as usual, was sleeping elsewhere, if indeed he took any rest at all.
Cautiously---very cautiously---Frodo crept off his low couch on quiet hobbit feet and tiptoed to the end of the Pavilion, grinning as Boromir pulled the covers aside and welcomed him with open arms. Frodo scooted close and snuggled against the man, rubbing his face against Boromir's neck and breathing in his lover's leathery, rather-citrusy-due-to-elven-soap smell. He was, for the moment, perfectly content.
"You do know what day this is, do you not?" Boromir whispered, absently running his fingers through Frodo's curls.
"Mmm-hmm. I was hoping it would be the day we'd have some time alone together." Oh yes, more than anything Frodo wanted the man to himself, for as long as he wanted him. Since they'd discovered their feelings for each other deep in the mines of Moria, they'd had the chance to partake of only a few hurried fumblings in the dark. Good fumblings, full of hard muscle and soft skin and sweat and intense release, but few, and the hobbit was eager for more.
Staring at the sunlight filtering through the cloth above his head, Boromir continued talking. "Ah, it is a day to spend together, Frodo. It is Valacar's Day. I'm only amazed I did not remember it before."
Frodo rose up on one elbow to stare at Boromir, scowling in mock irritation. "What in the Shire is Valacar's Day? It must be something Gondorian, of course."
"Of course," the man said, laughing. "It is a Gondorian holiday, a day for lovers to celebrate their love, to give one another gifts and cherish each other."
"Cherish?"
"Indeed. Would you like to know the story?"
Frodo mulled this over for a moment. He *did* love tales of history. "Of course. Do tell."
"Very well." Hugging the hobbit close and rubbing a large hand up and down Frodo's thigh, Boromir began his tale. "King Valacar of Gondor was a Dunadan who fell deeply in love and married a woman of a shorter life-span than he. Others, concerned that he was marrying someone of lesser status, nevertheless could not persuade him to do otherwise, and when his son, Eldacar, was born, the Dunedain would not accept Eldacar as the heir to the throne. A great war broke out in Gondor, and Eldacar's enemies fled to Umbar, where they remained as exiles. That is why, even today, Umbar and Gondor are at war."
Frodo eyes widened, as they always did when someone regaled him with a tale of the White City. "Truly? And today is the day of remembrance? How did that come about?"
Boromir shook his head as his mouth sought Frodo's, kissing lightly. "I know not. I only know that King Valacar's love for his wife is honored, even today, for he never parted from her despite the pressure to do so. In Minas Tirith, creamy flower blossoms are given to one another and gifts exchanged. I am only sorry I don't have a gift for you this morning."
"This is mathom enough." Responding eagerly to the man's advances, Frodo returned the wet kiss, stopping himself as he remembered their companions could wake any moment. The others knew of the relationship, and no one had commented on it, but Frodo, being a private person, preferred to keep his and Boromir's public displays to a minimum.
And Frodo distinctly felt that Aragorn didn't approve. The ranger would never say anything, but the hobbit had noticed how Aragorn absented himself whenever possible when Boromir and Frodo were together. It was a known fact that the two had argued in the past over taking the Ring to Minas Tirith, among other things, and that Aragorn did not wholly trust Boromir.
"So," Boromir said, eyeing Frodo, "what shall we do today to make it special? It is a day for lovers, after all."
"Yes," Frodo agreed, feeling almost shy suddenly. "I think I would . . . I think I would like to go off somewhere and have a private luncheon . . . and then you."
"Me? I'm sure that can be arranged."
***
The mallorn tree was hard and unyielding against Frodo's backbone as he finished, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "So you see, Aragorn? I can't do that to him today, I just can't. I have to meet him . . . and at least try to pretend that everything is all right."
Aragorn said nothing for long moments. "Then you must do what you must do." Reaching forward, he traced Frodo's lips lightly with one finger. "Knowing that Boromir has brought you to tears . . . rips my heart out. If there is anything I can do, you've only to tell me."
"I know, and I thank you. Perhaps . . . well, perhaps the Lady Galadriel was incorrect. Maybe she saw something that will never happen."
The ranger looked skeptical. "Perhaps, but the Lady is far wiser than you or me, Frodo, and her advice not to be taken lightly. He is an honorable man, is Boromir, but my heart tells me that once we are out of the safety of Lothlorien, you must be very careful."
Frodo nodded, silent, as Aragorn continued.
"I am sorry for saying this, but I cannot help wanting to protect you. And it has nothing to do with the Ring, Frodo . . . I would not see anyone bring you pain."
The hobbit smiled then, extreme gratitude flooding his mind at Aragorn's words. "I appreciate your help, Aragorn," he muttered, and the ranger stood and clasped the hobbit's shoulder briefly, seeming to sense Frodo's need to be alone.
"I will make my way back, then, and see you when the Company meets later." He turned and gave Frodo a wry and somewhat regretful smile. "And I promise, we shall not keep you too long."
Nodding, the hobbit sighed and closed his eyes, feeling the life-blood of the tree running through its trunk. Strange, he mused, how every plant and blade of grass seemed so alive in Lothlorien. A remarkable and exquisite place . . . and he should definitely take the time to enjoy it.
And being with Boromir, perhaps. Especially since it was . . . what was it? Valacar's Day, yes. After all, the Lady Galadriel saw much, but what if she was mistaken? Yes, perhaps Frodo's doubts and fears were unfounded. Perhaps Galadriel was incorrect----
"Ah, my sweet Frodo, there you are." Boromir walked up, the sight of his long surcoat swaying over powerful thighs giving the hobbit a surge of goosebumps. "Come, there's something very nice waiting for us nearby. And then you can tell me what you've been doing all afternoon, as I have missed you."
Smiling and hoping his earlier tears were not evident, Frodo stood, holding his hand out. "I'm ready. You've only to lead the way."
Taking the hobbit's hand in his own, Boromir gladly did---to a shimmering cloth set under the trees, far away from any other living beings. Silver elf lanterns hung from boughs above, giving the place a soft glow. And the cloth boasted all manner of food, including, to Frodo's unbelievable delight---mushrooms.
"They are difficult to find, but I was told that for the Ring-bearer, anything was possible," Boromir said, leaning down to kiss Frodo's head. "Sit."
Frodo did, his stomach growling, as he bit into a juicy mushroom. Perhaps . . . perhaps he should indeed forget the day's events for a time. Perhaps the Lady was wrong. It might never come to pass, that Boromir would attempt to steal the Ring. No, Frodo told himself emphatically, it didn't bear worrying about just now.
For it might never come to pass at all.
The End