A Heart for Falsehood Framed
by Soledad Cartwright
Disclaimer:
The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I'm only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some fun. Only the Lady Aquiel belongs to me.
Rating: PG – 13, for heavy angst stuff and implied m/m interaction.
Author's notes:
Now, as we said, there are still some unsolved problems between Boromir and his Elven lover – who just happens to have a brother, greatly worried about him. And though Elrohir might seem to be the softer, more Elvish one of Elrond's twin sons, appearances can be deceiving someties.
Chapter Seven: Mending the FencesWith that, the long and fruitless Council came to an end, with naught being decided beyond choosing two unfortunate hobbits for an impossible task. Elrond, for his part, offered to make preparations for them. Some of his scouts had been sent out already, and even more were to go in the next morrow. Elrond was sending Elves to get in touch with the Rangers of the North, and maybe with the people of Legolas' father , King Thranduil, in Mirkwood.
The sons of Elrond, too, left the dale in the same morrow, with many other scouts to scour the lands all round for many long leagues before any move should have been made. Strider – Aragorn – went with them, too, and my estranged lover left without saying farewell to me. Not that I would have been surprised by that. I deserved it – and more, for I had treated him badly and unjustly.
But Elrohir came to see me the eve before, and for once there was a hardness on his fair face that I only had seen on the face of his twin before. For the first time, the blood of his mortal fathers burnt through those aloof Elven manners of his.
''I require a word with you, son of Denethor, ere we leave'', he said in that cold voice I have come to know as a sign of silent fury by Elves. And indeed, he looked as if he wanted to tear me to pieces with his bare hands.
''What do you want, Elrohir?'', I asked wearily, though I did have a good guess, to tell the truth. ''To tell me what a fool I have been to throw away the greatest gift I have ever been given? I already know that.''
''I care not for your loss or your regret'', Elrohir replied coldly. ''I only care for my brother who has been hurt badly. What has he done to you that he would deserve being treated so cruelly? What deed of his arose your wrath against him so much that you needed to lash out and break his very heart?''
For a while, I could only remain silent in shame and despair.
''The fault is not his but mine'', I finally answered. ''That Council… it angered me very much that you kept Aragorn's claim hidden from me. Never in my life was I considered untrustworthy – until I came to your father's house. I did not deserve to be kept in the dark.''
''That might be true'', Elrohir nodded, the steely glaze of his eyes softening a little, ''but Estel's true heritage had been concealed all those years. The Chieftains of the Dúnedain of the North always lived in great peril, and their lives were short, for the Dark Lord never ceased to seek out and hunt down Isildur's Heirs. We are accustomed to protect our own. And the Kings of Númenór and all their progeny are our kindred.''
At that, I raised my head again, my own gaze, too, becoming somewhat harder now.
''You would not need to protect him from me, my Lord Elf'', I said. ''I was brought up to become the Steward of the House of Anárion, and always have I known where my duties would lie: to defend and watch over the White City of the King until he returns – and step down, should he ever return, even if he would be but the last of a ragged House long bereft of lordship and dignity.''
''That is how you see Estel, then'', Elrohir frowned. ''Yet I say you, should-be-Steward of Gondor, he is a lot more than that. Why else should our father give his blessing to Arwen's desire to wed him? Or do you truly believe that Elrond would abuse his own children's happiness as tools in order to gain power over the kingdoms of Men?''
''I know not what to believe any more'', I sighed in defeat. ''I only can see how lowly all you Elves think of Men – lesser beings you consider us for not having the gift to live forever and see and learn things you already have seen and learnt. Even you, who call yourselves Half-Elven, treat the mortal blood in your veins as a fault.''
Elrohir remained silent for a moment; then he closed his eyes in pain and when he spoke again, his voice was soft and full of regret.
''Had you spoken of any of us, even myself, you might have been, to my shame, right. Yet Elladan is closer to your kin than he is to the Firstborn; he always has been. He chose to share his heart with you for his roots in this earth are deep – and being with you has brought him great joy. Yet you wronged him badly, and because of that we might lose him. For he still is Elvish enough to fade away from grief.''
I felt a pang in my heart at those words. The thought that a strong, brave Elf warrior like Elladan might die of broken heart was unsettling – moreso the bitter truth that I would be the cause of such a grievance myself.
Have I not caused enough pain yet to all those who are near me?, I thought in dismay. Not only did I greatly upset my father, destroying all his hopes for our House, and almost destroyed my brother with the forbidden lust of my own heart; shall I now destroy the only one who gifted his undeserved love upon me as well? What has Elladan done, indeed, that I treated him so unjustly?
''I know not how to make him well again'', I admitted sadly.
''Nor do I'', Elrohir responded, ''yet I do know that you are the only one who might succeed.''
''I very much doubt it. My hands are too rough for healing.''
''Yet you should try'', the Elf said, ''for I would not lose the one closest to my heart over your harshness. Whe shall be gone for quite a long time… long enough for you to make up your mind.''
With that he turned and left me alone. And alone I was, indeed, for the coming days, for the Elves avoided me, and Mithrandir kept company with the hobbits (not that I would desire to spend my time with him), and my King-to-be, thankfully, was not around, either.
Only the Lady Aquiel sought out my company every time and again, which surprised me greatly, for I thought she would share Elrohir's opinion about me – which, to a certain extent, she did. But she visited me a few times nevertheless, and we would walk among the trees of the valley, and she would tell me about the long life of my lover, of his deeds in earlier times and about his struggle to find his own way through the tearing forces of his dual nature.
And she would tell me about Aragorn, too, whom she kept calling Estel: about his childhood among Elves, about his desire to return to his own people, about his struggles and battles and travels… and about his love to the Lady Arwen which nearly became his downfall and become it still might.
She knew very much, and much did she give me to think about. Which was a good thing at the time, or else I might have turned mad, all by myself for days, with only the nightmares to keep me company, unable to leave the dale ere the scouts returned.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
So the days slipped away, as each morning dawned bright and fair, greeted by the long, soft, sorrowful, and at times even wordless songs of the Wood-Elves, and each evening followed cool and clear, ere night fell and the nightmares, filled with fire and darkness, returned to torment Boromir's heart.
But autumn was waning fast; slowly the golden light faded to pale silver, and the lingering leaves fell from the naked trees, turning the wailing songs of the Wood-Elves even more sad, so sad it could have broken a Man's heart, would it not have been in shards already. A wind began to blow chill from the Misty Mountains to the east, and Boromir felt the coming of a hard winter in his bones. The Hunter's Moon waxed round in the night sky, and put to flight all the lesser stars.
But low in the South one star shone red. Every night, as the Moon waned again, it shone brighter and brighter. Boromir could see it from the terrace of the guest house, freezing in the cold night but glad to have escaped from his dreams for awhile: deep in the heavens, burning like a watchful eye that glared above the trees on the brink of the valley.
The great, lidless Eye of Mordor, framed with fire. He knew it well. He had seen it every day of his life, standing on the wall of his city. Minas Tirith, the white Queen of the South – she shall be consumed by that fire one day. Of that, he was awfully certain… unless some wonder happened, something not even the Wise could foresee. And the weight of darkness grew on his heart, nearly unbearable.
Almost two months had he already spent in Elrond's house – or, to be nearer to the truth, in the guest house of the Lord of Imladris, with only Legolas' escort as his unseen company, for the Wood-Elves would vanish for days, to be with the immortal trees of the dale, and when they returned, they would not seek out his company. Not even Legolas came to him any more – Boromir did not know whether the Prince of Mirkwood was in Imladris at all or left with the scouts as well.
Very lonely he was, more so than ever in his life, and were it not for the unfrequent visits of the Lady Aquiel, he probably would not have been able to endure it. Yet Lalaith's clear voice and musical laughter eased a little the burden of his heart, and so he went on, waiting for news, waiting for the longed-for day of his return to Gondor.
November had gone by with the last shreds of autumn, and December was passing, when the scouts started to return, and Boromir was called to Elrond's house every time to hear their tidings. For that, he was grateful, even though having Elrond's piecing glare on himself made those meetings hard to bear.
Same of the scouts had gone north beyond the springs of the Hoarwell into the Ettenmoors; and others had gone west, and with the help of Aragorn and the Rangers of the North had searched the lands far down the Greyflood, as far as Tharbad, where the old North Road crossed the river by a ruined town. This part caught Boromir's interest more than others, for it had been at Tharbad where he was waylaid by Orcs and lost his cheerished horse on his way here, and was forced to continue his tiresome journey afoot.
Many scouts had gone east and south; and some of these had crossed the Mountains and entered Mirkwood, led by Legolas himself, who, indeed, offered to escort them, for he wanted to speak his to father ere the Ring was sent out; while others had climbed the pass at the source of the Gladden River, and had come down into Wilderland and over the Gladden Fields, and so at length had reached the old home of Radagast the Brown at Rhosgobel.
Radagast was not there – and this seemed to give Mithrandir great distress, the reason for which Boromir failed to understand; after all, Radagas was a wizard, too, and could take care of himself –, and they had returned over the high pass that was called the Dimrill Stair.
In no region had the messengers discovered any signs or tidings of the Black Riders or other servants of the Enemy. Even from the Eagles of the Misty Mountains they had learned no fresh news. Nothing had been seen or heard of Gollum, either; but the wild wolves were still gathering, and were hunting again far up the Great River.
Of the Black Riders no other trace was to be seen than the dead bodies of their drown horses: three in the flooded Ford an five more on the rocks of the rapids below it. Yet the presence of their Riders was no-where to be felt. It seemed that they had vanished from the North.
''Eight out of the Nine are accounted for at least'', said Mithrandir. ''It is rash to be too sure, yet I think that we may hope now that the Ringwraiths were scattered, and have been obliged to return as best they could to their Master in Mordor, empty and shapeless.''
To return to the neighborhood of Gondor. Empty and shapeless, you say, Mithrandir? The darkness that dwell in their empty shadow needs no shape to freeze the hearts of Men to ice and fill their minds with madness. Far worse they are without a shape, indeed, for so the restrains of a form shall not keep their darkness at one place but sends it out all over our lands…
''If that is so, it shall be some time before they can begin the hunt again'', the wizard added, unaware of Boromir's dark thoughts. ''Of course, the Enemy has other servants, but they will have to journey all the ways to the borders of Rivendell ere they can pick up our trail. And if we are careful that shall be hard to find. But we must delay no longer.''
And so, at least, Boromir learnt that the wizard, too, was meant to go with the Ring-bearer to Mordor.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Yet they still had to wait for the sons of Elrond to return as the last of the scouts. Elladan and Elrohir had made a great journey, passing down the Silverlode into a strange country, but of their errand they would not speak to any save Elrond.
After having spoken at length to their father, Elrohir went straight to the Lady Aquiel, whom he had been missing greatly all along, but Elladan returned to his chambers, bone-weary and shaking with cold, wishing only to have a long, hot bath and then go to bed.
He felt the presence of his lover even before entering his bedchamber. And there, indeed, stood the son of Denethor, just outside the arched entrance, alone in the slowly pouring rain, anguish and stubborn determination fighting on his face.
Elladan sighed. The last thing he wanted right now was another hurtful fight with this brick-headed Man. On the other hand, he already knew Boromir well enough to know that the Gondorian prince – for that was how he saw Denethor's son, who might have lacked the title but not the pride and the royalty – would stay in the rain for days if he had to.
''What do you want, Boromir?'', he asked tiredly.
''May I…'', Boromir hesitated, ''may I have a word with you?''
Elladan waved in defeat. He could just as well listen to the Man and be done with the whole unfortunate affair.
If I can. If I shall ever get over him.
''Come in, then. It would do no good to stay outside in the rain and become sick ere you can leave for home.''
Boromir took a few tentative steps inside. Elladan brought out a bottle of miruvor and poured them both a cup – he knew they both would need their strength ere this conversation was over.
Boromir felt his hand trembling when he took the cup from his lover. No matter how different their feelings for each other had become, he did not want to part in anger. And having been the one who had hurt the other badly, he knew it was up to him to try to make things better.
Elladan reached back, loosened the cord that held his hair together and shook it free with a sigh.
''You wanted to speak'', he said. ''Speak then.''
And be done with it. All I want is to sleep and to forget.
''I… I want to ask your forgiveness'', Boromir murmured, not daring to look straight at the Elf's tired face. ''I had no right to speak to you like… like I did.''
''That is very true'', Elladan replied flatly. ''Yet you did it nevertheless.''
''I… did not mean to hurt you'', Boromir continued hesitantly, seeking for the right words and not finding any.
''Does it matter any more?'' Elladan asked. ''Much as I wish that things coul be between us as they were, we both know that they would not. Never again.''
''This I know'', Boromir nodded, sorrowful. ''And I do know, too, that 'tis my fault alone… and I honestly, deeply regret hurting you.''
''I am nearly three thousand years old'', Elladan said, his eyes flashing briefly. ''I have been hurt before. I got over it. Just as I shall get over this one. Over you. I shall live.''
''You sure?'' Boromir asked quietly.
Elladan glared at him, with a very un-Elvish, very stubborn face, his lips tightening into a thin line once again. ''Very sure.''
''Your brother is not'', Boromir said.
Elladan frowned, steel-grey eyes darkening. ''My brother should not..''
''Your brother is worried about you'', Boromir interrupted. ''It is his right, for he is your brother and he loves you.'' More than I shall ever be able, to my shame, he added in his heart ruefully. ''Yet 'tis of no importance. I would have come to you anyway.''
Elladan raised a doubtful eyebrow. ''You would?''
Boromir nodded with deliberate slowness. ''I would.''
''What for?'' Elladan asked. ''You spoke your mind very clearly that last time. I know now what you think of me: that I only shared your bed to serve my father's purposes. What else could be said after that?''
''I… I never believed that…''
''You did. In that break during the Council, you did.''
''Nay… not truly.''
''Then why said you such horrible things to me?''
''I was angry'', Boromir admitted. ''I truly believed that your father would secretly plot against mine – that he would take us our land… our beautiful city… our inheritance… our very purpose – just to make his daughter a Queen.''
''You still believe thusly?'' Elladan asked. Boromir made a helpless gesture.
''What I do or do not believe is of little importance. Such is what I might or might not think of Aragorn. He is Isildur's Heir – for that I have seen enough proof, therefore I have no other choice but to accept his claim. I cannot fight him, not now, nor later. Gondor needs to stay strong in the upcoming dire times. That is our only chance to survive, if there ever would be one.''
''And yet 'tis not a happy choice for you'', Elladan said.
It was not a question. Boromir shook his head.
''Nay, 'tis not. He shall take me the only thing still worth living for: my shining city, my duties, my purpose. The only thing I had the Lady Éowyn to offer; so this would be the end of all her hopes as well. Yet I cannot fight him, for his claim is justified according the laws of Arnor and Gondor, and should I turn against him, the fall of my people would be certain.'' He sighed, weariness creeping over his very being again. ''I only wish you could at least forgive me. I wish not part from you in anger.''
''I forgave you the very day Elrohir and I left'', Elladan said tiredly. ''I can even understand your mistrust against some of my father's dealings. But it hurt me very much that you would not trust me. That you believed I would deceive you.''
''And that I regret more than anything in my life'', Boromir replied, ''for truly, never have I felt so safe as in your arms. And I cannot see how I could have doubted you, even for a fleeting moment.''
He paused, But Elladan did not answer, only looked at him somewhat confused, yet his eyes seemed less tired now. Boromir sighed.
''I miss you'', he added with a sad little smile. ''I miss the warm safety of your embrace; the touch of your soul that healed my heart, as far as it could be healed; your voice, singing to me in the darkness, keeping the nightmares away. With you, I almost felt like before the shadow had fallen upon me.''
''We are healers'', Elladan said simply, ''that is what we do. But you would be gone shortly anyway; and I would stay here. Our time has been measured short, form the beginning.''
''I know that'', Boromir replied. ''I have known that all the time. The more I regret my folly that took us the rest of even that short time.'' He paused again, looking for the right words. ''I know I have no right to ask you aught, but… would you grant me one last wish?''
''I know not'', Elladan eyed him warily. ''What wish would that be?''
''Would you sing to me once again, so that I can sleep in peace one more time?'' Boromir whispered. He would beg on his knees if he had to, and pride be damned. ''All my dreams are filled with fire and darkness… I cannot go on like that any more.''
Elladan pondered over his request for awhile; then he nodded slowly.
''I need to rest first'', he said, ''for I am weary beyond measure. Yet eve is still far away; right after sunset I shall go to you.''
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
''Are you certain that you want to do this?'' Elrohir asked doubtfully. He came from the rain-soaked garden, just as Boromir had done.
''Were you listening?'' Elladan shot back. ''Even though I have shared my pain with you, do I not deserve some privacy?''
''I saw him waiting outside'', Elrohir shrugged, ''and he seemed to be in a foul mood. I was getting worried… And you truly wish to go to him?''
Elladan noded. ''I am still concerned about him. Those nightmares… they come from the darkness that fell over him during the battle of Osgiliath. Very evil things, they are, and getting worse. But when ever I sing to him in his sleep, they cannot reach him.''
''And you intend to do no more than that?'' Elrohir clearly did not think so.
Elladan gave him a rueful smile. ''You know me too well, brother. But the truth is… I missed him, too. Short is the time fate granted us, and I wish not to waste it.''
''Do you want to get hurt again, this much?'' Elrohir asked, troubled about the spell this mortal had upon his brother. Elladan sighed.
''I wish to touch passion again. In mere days, he shall be gone, never to return. Should the Valar allow him to survive, which I very much doubt, he would go home, wed the woman he is promised to and build up the House of the Stewards. For thus is demanded of him, and he is a Man who takes his duties very seriously.''
''And what about you?'' Elrohir asked. Elladan was silent for a moment; then he shrugged.
''I shall have my memories.''
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
And so my lover came to me after sunset and took me in his arms and sang to me in the soft darknes of my bedchamber. And I buried my face in the gentle crook of his neck and wept with guilt and sorrow.
I wept for my beautiful city that would fall into the hand of a stranger.
I wept for my father who shall be taken the only purpose of his long, hard life – a purpose he sacrificed anything for, including his family.
I wept for my brother who shall be torn apart between his loyalty to our father and the loyalty to the new King.
I wept for the Lady Éowyn who shall not become the shining white Queen of Gondor. For naught of what I have promised her shall come true, I fear. I might not have become a King by title, but without Isildur's Heir crawling out of the Northern wilderness, I would have ruled Gondor one day, with the White Lady of Rohan on my side.
Now, even if she choses to take me on my given word, she would only become the wife of a servant.
But she was born to rule, not to serve.
And so was I.
So I wept for myself, too, over the twisted ways of fate that took me my shining city, the only thing that was left me.
And over the twisted ways of my own heart.
For I could not bleed out of it the forbidden love towards my own brother, though mayhap Father would be content with me now. Have I not pledged myself to the Lady Éowyn whom he wanted me to wed? And even if I would never cease to love Faramir, did I not dutifully turn my lust towards another male?
What would Father say, I wondered, if he could see me in this very moment? He despises weakness above anything else.
Yet I am so broken, I cannot hold back any more.
And I wept for my beautiful Elven lover who gave me not only the comfort of flesh but his heart and soul as well, and whom I had only given sorrow. Yet here he was, rocking me in his arms like he would soothe a frightened child, and singing to me in the dark.
And though I was still deeply ashamed about how I had treated him only a few weeks ago, I could not help but ask:
''Will you lie with me tonight?''
His voice trailed off, and I feared that I have ruined between us everything again.
But then I heard his quiet laughter.
''Tonight and any other that remains us.''
And so he stayed with me and loved me, like he did in our first night together, touching the fire of passion in each other's soul, and once again, I felt ashamed for accepting his love which I did not deserve and giving him naught in exchange. I tried to voice my troubled feelings, yet he only laughed softly in the darkness as if I had been but a child and quieted me in the most pleasant way: with his lips on mine. So I spoke no more, accepting grateful his forgiveness which I deserved even less than I deserved his love, thanking the Valar for those unexpected gifts that enlightened my path under the shadow.
And then we slept.
Side by side in my bed, we slept.
And I felt safe in his arms once again, more safe than I had ever felt in my short, harsh life, save mayhap in the womb of my mother.
Here endeth this story
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
End note:
I did it! Unbelievable, but finally I did it! This was the final part of ''A Heart for Falsehood Framed'', and I apologize if it became too long or boring someplaces. I hope putting the story back together had helped with better understanding, though.
These things had to be said before I sent my heroes out to fight the Caradhras.
Which is a different tale entirely – one of which I do not have any clear concept of yet, so it might take time till it forms itself. It will be titled ''Of Snow and Stone and Wolves'', I think, unless I come up with a better title.
Thanks for staying with me!
Soledad