Title: The Sky's Not Crying
Author: Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels@hotmail.com)
Website: http://www.deadjournal.com/users/lannamichaels
Rating: PG
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Setting: After Moria, Before Lorien.
Archive: Ask first.
Disclaimer: I don't own them (if I did, Boromir would still be alive). I *spend* money, I don't make it.
Summary: In a cave, during a rainstorm, two men have some angst issues.
A/N: The title was taken from the wonderful song of the same name by Dreamtrybe (formerly Velvet Hammer).
"'Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain', indeed," Sam grumbled. "Though what I
wouldn't do for a mug of beer."
Frodo placed a hand on Sam's shoulder in reassurance. "I'm sure the rain will stop soon, Sam."
"Well, can you at least tell Pip to shut up? I don't need to hear about Tooks and their
wonderful water resilience."
Across the cave in which the Fellowship had taken refuge, Boromir couldn't help but
smile at the Hobbits' antics. It reminded him of the carefree times he had spent with
his brother, before duty had made him a soldier and swordsman. Faramir had been only six
to Boromir's twelve and he hadn't understood that suddenly his brother's time would be
spent on the practice field instead of in the nursery. Boromir wasn't sure that, even
now, Faramir had forgiven him for deserting him so soon after their mother's death.
Faramir had been the scholar even then. He had demanded more and more stories from their
tutor, while Boromir had been content to merely hear stories of famous battles. Even at
that age their differences had been apparent. Even before he knew what it truly was to
be a leader of men, Boromir had shunned the idea that the kings of old would return and
set everything right, while Faramir clung to it the same way a child does to a favorite
toy.
And the kings would not return. Boromir had seen to that, hadn't he, with his rash words
in council. Aragorn had already been wary of taking the crown. How else was Isildur's
Heir to react when the next in the line of Stewards had informed him, quite bluntly,
that he wasn't welcome or wanted? How else was he to react when the future of Gondor
went around molesting heirlooms, and harboring thoughts of molesting heirs?
'Boromir, this won't do,' he chided himself. He had gone over this time and time again
during their two month journey. Aragorn was his king, even if neither of them
acknowledged that fact. And Aragorn was betrothed, as any good heir to a throne should
be. Boromir had been reminded seemingly every day he was in Minas Tirith that he had not
taken a wife. And he had no intention to, especially now that he had seen Aragorn.
Oh, Aragorn. Would that all his troubles were as wonderful as the man himself. Aragorn
was tall, like the elves from whom he was descended. Quick with a bow, as well as with a
sword. A skilled tracker and hunter. And totally, completely, out of Boromir's reach.
Indeed, there wasn't even the slightest chance of getting what Boromir would have given
his life to have. He had thrown away all chance of closeness with the man the moment he
had declared that Gondor had no need for a king. And, thus, no need for Aragorn.
"But, Merry, how else do you expect me to uphold my family name if I can't proclaim
myself a Took in front of this Baggins-of-the-hill?" Pippin whined. "It's not like *his*
family was the longest lived in the Shire!"
"Pippin..." Frodo sighed. "Please. We're all short-tempered now. Can we not leave this
until tomorrow?"
"Must be a Hobbit thing."
Boromir jumped at the sound of the voice in his ear. He turned around quickly, hand
already on his sword. A part of his mind told him that was foolish, as only one of the
Fellowship would have been able to sneak in here, or would refer to the little ones as
Hobbits. Needless to say, that part of his mind was not the one in control.
"Aragorn. Must you go out of your way to scare me?"
Boromir could have sworn that Aragorn almost smiled at this. "My apologies, then. I had
thought I made a significant amount of noise in approaching you. It seems I had
forgotten to consider our entertainment for the evening in my calculations."
Boromir nodded, aware that he was being made fun of. "Well, it seems that I am truly a
man then, and no elf, for I did not hear you come." Oh, bad choice of words, Boromir.
Don't even think of that. The man is your king! "What can I do for you?"
--
'Smile, for one thing!' Aragorn clamped down on his tongue before the words came out.
This man did not care for him, and would certainly not welcome a criticism on his lack
of cheer. By all accounts, the man didn't even like him. "Will you take first watch
tonight," he asked instead. "Though he will not admit it, Legolas needs sleep and I know
that if he takes first watch he'll stay awake all night."
Something akin to irritation flashed across Boromir's face. "Of course. The elf needs
his rest."
Aragorn frowned. "What's troubling you, Boromir?"
"What makes you think something is troubling me?"
Aragorn could almost hear the 'why don't you just assume it's the Ring, like everyone
else?' implied in the question, and he winced internally. What had he done to make
Boromir have such a low estimation of him? And what could he do to remedy that fact?
Aragorn had no delusions of what he was. And what he was at that moment, and indeed for
the past several months, was harboring a deep desire for Boromir of Gondor. "You did not
hear me approach."
"I am not elven, Aragorn. I'm mere mortal."
Again the bitterness. Again the reference to elves. "Boromir, please. I want to help you."
"I am beyond help."
"No man is ever beyond help. There is always hope left."
"Not for this."
Aragorn thought for a moment and then took a deep breath. He had to ask. "Do you pine
for someone, Boromir of Gondor?"
Aragorn had not thought Boromir's expression could grow more guarded. "In truth, I do."
"Oh."
"Don't you?"
Boromir could give lessons to poison. "Yes, I do pine. But I do not let it consume me,
as it seems you are letting it." Unconsciously, Aragorn leaned forward and moved closer
to Boromir.
Boromir closed his eyes in seeming defeat and then, in a burst of strength, pushed
Aragorn away. "It is none of your business, son of Arathorn. I will take first watch as
you ask." And before Aragorn could answer, Boromir had stalked away, much to the
amazement of the watching Hobbits.
--
He had been so close. By Elbereth, he had been so close. Aragorn could not have known
what was going through Boromir's mind as he leaned forward, and indeed, if he had known
he probably would have run screaming from the cave out into the rain.
Boromir sighed, and adjusted his seat on the rock. All was quiet this night. The Hobbits
seemed to have called a truce and were sleeping in their usual pile near the embers of
the fire. The dwarf was sleeping off to the side, but ready to spring up at any moment.
He was second watch, but Boromir was in no hurry to wake him. There was something
soothing about being the only one awake, about being trusted to watch over everyone. The
elf was sleeping, and Aragorn quite close to him. Boromir felt a stab of jealousy and
buried it as quickly as he could. Aragorn had been raised among elves. It was only
logical that he should take to them more than to his own kind. Be more worried about
them. Stay around them more. Talk about them more. Care for them. Try to cheer them up.
Boromir laughed at himself. 'There you go, as if you have an excuse to be jealous.
Aragorn may have been born a man, but he was raised an elf. He's one of them, not one of
you. He's attracted to elves, and it is among them that he feels most comfortable, *not*
among a stranger from the land of men.' And it was true. Aragorn spent more time with
the elf than with anyone on this journey, save perhaps the fallen Gandalf. Boromir had
no reason to be jealous; the others had known Aragorn far longer than he had. Yet there
he was, sitting on a rock in the middle of the wilderness, wondering how he could go
about stealing his king's heart. The entire idea was laughable.
But he wasn't laughing anymore.