Disclaimer- Everything here belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, other than Síla Galad na-en Ril (Shining Light of the Flame in Sindarin, and my elvish name) and her romance with Boromir.
A/N- I wrote this listening to "Now We Are Free" on the Gladiator soundtrack, so I come off more depressing than I meant to be. I have this weird picture of an elvish queen being part of the Fellowship (which sort of ruins the original story), who falls in love with Boromir, and earns his respect with her amazing grace, beauty, and strength. Apparently, I also made her the most powerful (other than Gandalf and the bad guys) of all the Middle Earth. I also entertain the idea that Boromir loves her, but is hesitant to take her as she wishes (in Lothlorien), as he deems himself unworthy, so she gives up and weeps for him when he passes in Amon Hen. Maybe I should just write that instead? This is just about his battle to protect Merry and Pippin in Amon Hen.
How much power could I have been given?
He laments pointlessly, a broken man made by fire and wind.
Eyes that have lost their sparkling depths, gray drowns the iris.
Strong nose, strong jaw, both broad and powerful in their force.
Lips, thin and crimson, turned down at either end, thoughtful.
Elegant cheekbones that draw attention, high and mighty and strong.
But how many times could I have been given this chance?
Tears pool as he draws his strength to defend the little ones.
White teeth clench together, summoning facial intonation.
Heavy lines from the ends of his nostrils to the ends of his mouth, smiles were many.
Ears, a fine size, that can hear his chanting forefathers beckon, but he resists.
Eyebrows that are close to his long lashes furrow in his efforts.
I can give my strength, but never my grace.
I have too much left in me to be defeated.
They will not be taken, and I can help.
Not while I still have strength left in me…
Straight hair falls to his chin, half tucked behind his ears.
His lips shut defiantly, his eyes glow magnificently.
The last arrow pierces his muscular chest, broad with pride.
He falls to his knees, his sculpted body losing its youthful endurance.
His eyes lose power
His ears lose sound
His mouth opens again,
His eyes will water, but he will not permit tears to fall.
And then my life is lost, my love is gone.
I cannot let this happen! But here, I can do nothing on weak legs.
An arrow being drawn, he looks into the face of his assailant.
He does not break eye contact, and as he hears Aragorn defend him,
He shuts his eyes, savoring his last moments.
He will live only long enough to make Aragorn promise, and to ask for forgiveness.
He never had the chance to kiss Síla.
He denies her, and he would make her disappear.
Her kisses are fervent, needy.
He feels warmth in him grow, and he is aware of her tears on his face.
She cries for me, even though I hurt her…
"The Ring would give me power of command. How I would drive the hosts of Mordor, and all men would flock to my banner!"- Boromir
A/N-...Foolish Boromir, you had power already, but you did not see your own beauty or strength...