Kiss
(Boromir's recovered dream)
Boromir was surprised to see the Lady Anorlach standing on the parapet of the gate into Minas Tirith facing northeast, her long and tangled locks, the crimson of wine, blowing wildly on the wind of the approaching storm. She did not stir even as Boromir touched her hand, her knuckles white as snow as she clutched the edge of the wall. Her eyes remained closed, whatever color that had ever been in her face steadily fading from her flesh, rendering her as pale as a ghost. Finally, as the rain began to gently fall from the swirling clouds above and smote her face, she awoke from the trance-like state.
"What is it, my lord?" Anorlach said, releasing her grip from the stone. Her voice now had an attractive huskiness to it, as if it had not been used in days. She, in most likely hood, had not, Boromir thought. She had fallen into a strange depression the way his mother had, but nonetheless, he felt a shiver crawl down his spine and back up again. It was because of a mixed sensation of desire and despair: he could not bear to lose another loved one.
"I am not your lord," Boromir whispered into the downpour as it pounded against the rock of the White City. He wanted so much to kiss her, but he did not want to scare away such a high-strung, beautiful creature...but almost against his will, he stepped forward and took the hand that still rested on the wall. The look in her perfect eyes melted away all fear of her temper. But suddenly, he was aware of eyes watching him from above. He knew it was his father, glaring down at them as rain lashed the glass of the windows, glowering in disapproval.
"Then what am I -"
"Meet me here tonight at midnight...I'll be waiting for you..."
Impatiently, all throughout the night, Boromir had watched the laggard progress of the crescent moon as it slid up in the black sky until he could see it no longer. It was then that he quietly slipped on the cloak that hung from his hand and snuck out the door with hardly a sound.
Anorlach was waiting for him there, once again facing to the northeast, still as marble until Boromir called out her name softly in the darkness. She turned her head slowly, as if unwilling to move, and Boromir saw that her face was streaked with tears. A pang of guilt smote his heart: he knew he had caused this grief by keeping her here. He turned around and started to leave when she cried out.
"Don't leave me!" she whimpered. Boromir pivoted on one heel, finding that her lips were trembling with the effort of trying not to weep. Gently, Boromir went to her, embracing her close to him. She eagerly accepted his kindness, burying her head in the crook of his neck as hot tears splashed down upon his skin. Nearly half of an hour passed until she pulled away from his arms, pressing her lips into his quickly. As she turned to leave, she flashed him a quick smile until she was engulfed by the shadows. Boromir slowly raised his hand to his tingling lips. Why did she do that?
Boromir did not see her that morning, nor for the rest of the day, or any time for the next week. He had heard from the boys that she worked with in the stables that she had taken her mare to the gate, bid the gatekeeper open it, and let the mare free, following her into the forest nearby. Boromir chastised himself for this: he had bred the mare to his own stallion on a double purpose; he wanted to mingle the positive aspects of the bloodlines, as Free's heritage was very good as was Hasufel's, and he wanted to give the foal to her as a gift. She had told of the day she was born, in the middle of March, and the foal, hopefully a filly, would be born by then. He had hoped that she would not notice, but he had been a fool. He knew that she was an Elven, and even at this early stage in Free's pregnancy, Anorlach would be able to tell. He decided that the next day, before dawn so his father would never notice his leaving until he woke, to search for her.
The sun was rising over the hills as Boromir led his bay stallion outside and mounted, nudging his horse off into a rocking canter. A bird fluttered by Hasufel's head, causing him to vault sideways, his eyes rolling in mock terror as he let out a long squeal shrill enough to wake the dead. Boromir harshly slapped him on his neck, the noise muffled by the stallion's thick black mane but the force hard enough to sting, and urged him back again into the pace he had set before. The forest loomed nearby...and suddenly, they were plunged into its darkness...
With a light pull on the reins, Boromir eased Hasufel into a slow trot, posting in time to the beat of the stallion's hooves, and he patted his horse's neck in praise. His green eyes finally adjusted to the gloom and he began gazing about for any sign of her. Large hoofprints lay in the dust before him. He followed them into a clearing by a stream where he found a beautiful sight. He halted Hasufel, dismounted and tied the reins to a dangling branch before he turned again to gaze longingly at the Lady Anorlach as she lay sleeping on the grass by the stream, Free grazing on the other bank in a protective stance even though her head was down. The mare watched him very carefully, but Boromir didn't care. Anorlach was so beautiful. He stretched himself down beside her and folded his arms around her...
(Boromir's recovered dream)
Boromir was surprised to see the Lady Anorlach standing on the parapet of the gate into Minas Tirith facing northeast, her long and tangled locks, the crimson of wine, blowing wildly on the wind of the approaching storm. She did not stir even as Boromir touched her hand, her knuckles white as snow as she clutched the edge of the wall. Her eyes remained closed, whatever color that had ever been in her face steadily fading from her flesh, rendering her as pale as a ghost. Finally, as the rain began to gently fall from the swirling clouds above and smote her face, she awoke from the trance-like state.
"What is it, my lord?" Anorlach said, releasing her grip from the stone. Her voice now had an attractive huskiness to it, as if it had not been used in days. She, in most likely hood, had not, Boromir thought. She had fallen into a strange depression the way his mother had, but nonetheless, he felt a shiver crawl down his spine and back up again. It was because of a mixed sensation of desire and despair: he could not bear to lose another loved one.
"I am not your lord," Boromir whispered into the downpour as it pounded against the rock of the White City. He wanted so much to kiss her, but he did not want to scare away such a high-strung, beautiful creature...but almost against his will, he stepped forward and took the hand that still rested on the wall. The look in her perfect eyes melted away all fear of her temper. But suddenly, he was aware of eyes watching him from above. He knew it was his father, glaring down at them as rain lashed the glass of the windows, glowering in disapproval.
"Then what am I -"
"Meet me here tonight at midnight...I'll be waiting for you..."
Impatiently, all throughout the night, Boromir had watched the laggard progress of the crescent moon as it slid up in the black sky until he could see it no longer. It was then that he quietly slipped on the cloak that hung from his hand and snuck out the door with hardly a sound.
Anorlach was waiting for him there, once again facing to the northeast, still as marble until Boromir called out her name softly in the darkness. She turned her head slowly, as if unwilling to move, and Boromir saw that her face was streaked with tears. A pang of guilt smote his heart: he knew he had caused this grief by keeping her here. He turned around and started to leave when she cried out.
"Don't leave me!" she whimpered. Boromir pivoted on one heel, finding that her lips were trembling with the effort of trying not to weep. Gently, Boromir went to her, embracing her close to him. She eagerly accepted his kindness, burying her head in the crook of his neck as hot tears splashed down upon his skin. Nearly half of an hour passed until she pulled away from his arms, pressing her lips into his quickly. As she turned to leave, she flashed him a quick smile until she was engulfed by the shadows. Boromir slowly raised his hand to his tingling lips. Why did she do that?
Boromir did not see her that morning, nor for the rest of the day, or any time for the next week. He had heard from the boys that she worked with in the stables that she had taken her mare to the gate, bid the gatekeeper open it, and let the mare free, following her into the forest nearby. Boromir chastised himself for this: he had bred the mare to his own stallion on a double purpose; he wanted to mingle the positive aspects of the bloodlines, as Free's heritage was very good as was Hasufel's, and he wanted to give the foal to her as a gift. She had told of the day she was born, in the middle of March, and the foal, hopefully a filly, would be born by then. He had hoped that she would not notice, but he had been a fool. He knew that she was an Elven, and even at this early stage in Free's pregnancy, Anorlach would be able to tell. He decided that the next day, before dawn so his father would never notice his leaving until he woke, to search for her.
The sun was rising over the hills as Boromir led his bay stallion outside and mounted, nudging his horse off into a rocking canter. A bird fluttered by Hasufel's head, causing him to vault sideways, his eyes rolling in mock terror as he let out a long squeal shrill enough to wake the dead. Boromir harshly slapped him on his neck, the noise muffled by the stallion's thick black mane but the force hard enough to sting, and urged him back again into the pace he had set before. The forest loomed nearby...and suddenly, they were plunged into its darkness...
With a light pull on the reins, Boromir eased Hasufel into a slow trot, posting in time to the beat of the stallion's hooves, and he patted his horse's neck in praise. His green eyes finally adjusted to the gloom and he began gazing about for any sign of her. Large hoofprints lay in the dust before him. He followed them into a clearing by a stream where he found a beautiful sight. He halted Hasufel, dismounted and tied the reins to a dangling branch before he turned again to gaze longingly at the Lady Anorlach as she lay sleeping on the grass by the stream, Free grazing on the other bank in a protective stance even though her head was down. The mare watched him very carefully, but Boromir didn't care. Anorlach was so beautiful. He stretched himself down beside her and folded his arms around her...