Rating: PG 13 for angst and mentions of past slashiness.
Disclaimer: However Much I tried between last chapter and this, They're STILL not mine God dammit!!
Authors notes: Thankyou for your comments, They were well founded and pleased me greatly . I have tried to take on board what you said for this chapter. I hope you like it and as always feedback is appreciated!
This unlike the last chapter is not a parody of bad cliched slash. (although I suspect that this has more than a few clichés in it!
Chapter 2
Minas Tirith
Aragorn knelt by the horn of Gondor, The pieces had been put on a plinth in a room made by Denathor like a shrine to his eldest son. His head was bowed and his slender back shuddered with the tears that racked his body. Images of Boromirs glazed eyes filled his head, His fingers still felt the release of the arrows as they dislodged from his chest, His nose could still smell the Orcs and his mouth could taste Boromirs blood as he kissed him for the last time.
A hand lightly squeezed Aragorns shoulder.
"Don't cry" A voice like Boromirs sounded loud as it reberverated around the chamber.
"In the wise words of my ever sympathetic brother: Buck up come on they ain't worth crying over crying for farm maids!" Faramir chuckled, Aragorn smiled, He had to. An image of Moria formed itself in his head. Of Boromir refusing to submit to him beacause of the cold of the stone floor.
"Here" Said Faramir offering his hand, It wasn't as calloused as B's " Let me take you somewhere"
Faramir wasn't as rough looking as his brother. His eyes were smaller and softer his hair curlier a lot less rugged but equally beautiful.
They neared a thick wooden door the tree of Gondor engraved in it. Aragorn ran his hand over the wood and felt Boromirs presence. Faramir pushed the door open. Boromir's chamber was impeccably tidy. He noticed some of the quirks he brought to the fellowship like folding his pygamas up neatly on his pillow and leaving his shoes at the end of the bed. And some of the habits Aragorn had never seen like storing socks on the end of the bedposts and keeping his weapons hung up on the wall.
For that moment Boromir was alive again, His Boromir was alive again. Faramir smiled
"Are you glad I brought you here?"
"Yes. Thank you"
"Would you like a moment alone?"
"Please"
Aragorn faced the window looking out at the peak of Mount Doom. The slam of the door told him Faramir had left. He walked slowly to the dressing table: a plain wooden affair only embellished, Like the rest of his furniture with the Gondorian tree inlaid with bright silver.
He took the silver lids of the various flutes and jars and breathed in the heavy scent of his lover. He sat down at the rich wooden table made for two, on the carved chair where Boromirs various trysts must have started. He fingered the crystal glasses and mimicked toasting.
He went back to the bed. A large red wood base, skilfully made spindles holding the white muslin drapes over the bed. A wooden headboard again with the mark of Gondor.
He smiled at the thought of Boromirs partners as they rested on the headboard looking up at the tree and realised that even in bed, the most private of places the responsibility of Gondor overshadowed Boromir.
The heavy linen covers still smelt of Boromir and the left pillow still held his hair. Aragorns hand stroked the gold locket holding a lock of Boromirs hair he now kept in the breast pocket of his clothes.
Aragorn remembered whispered words from Boromir promising that he and Aragorn would do what they were enjoying then in this bed, it was just as Boromir had described. By then Aragorn would be beyond speech and would just smile, not the smile he was giving now, the smile he had now was a phantom, a reflection of the delirious smile he held when Boromir held him.
His eyes were frozen on something far away, focusing on Boromirs spirit. Just like Boromir had promised Aragorn felt his presence after death, the feeling was stronger here like, Boromir was there like his arms were around him, His mouth on his, Hands slowly removing Aragorns tunic. Whispering promises and fealties of love. He wasn't sure after how long he had spent there, bathing in the feeling that Boromir was there again.
When Faramir woke him up he wasn't ready to give up the connection with his fallen hero. When Faramir tapped him, waking him from meditation he felt the pain come back. The first words Faramir said washed over him not registering with him.
The next thing he remembered was sitting in a chamber, a plainer chamber, lined with books and sitting there sobbing. Faramir was sitting next to him on the long bench.
"Shhh come on ....by the valar just shut up! ....................okay maybe that wasn't the best thing to say. Please. I hate seeing you like this."
His tears fell just as heavily as the night on Amon Hen until Faramirs lips brushed against the droplets of water on his cheeks.
Faramir pushed Aragorn backwards until he was spread out on the bench almost straddled by the red head.
Faramirs poetic fingers tilted Aragorns head till his neck was exposed and Faramir gently began to kiss it just below the earlobe that Faramirs moustache was tickling. Aragorn closed his eyes and pretended he was with Faramirs brother.
"Boromir" Aragorn hissed without meaning to.
Faramirs whole body tensed and withdrew from Aragorn who whimpered at the loss of the body so acheingly similar to his dead lovers. He had to go he knew instinctively that he had hurt Faramir and he didn't want to be there to hear it in his voice as well, so he ran.
He sped up the spiralled layers of the white city until he reached the peak of the walls surrounding the tip protecting 'his' castle. His feet teetered on the edge, the ground was so tempting.
Disclaimer: However Much I tried between last chapter and this, They're STILL not mine God dammit!!
Authors notes: Thankyou for your comments, They were well founded and pleased me greatly . I have tried to take on board what you said for this chapter. I hope you like it and as always feedback is appreciated!
This unlike the last chapter is not a parody of bad cliched slash. (although I suspect that this has more than a few clichés in it!
Chapter 2
Minas Tirith
Aragorn knelt by the horn of Gondor, The pieces had been put on a plinth in a room made by Denathor like a shrine to his eldest son. His head was bowed and his slender back shuddered with the tears that racked his body. Images of Boromirs glazed eyes filled his head, His fingers still felt the release of the arrows as they dislodged from his chest, His nose could still smell the Orcs and his mouth could taste Boromirs blood as he kissed him for the last time.
A hand lightly squeezed Aragorns shoulder.
"Don't cry" A voice like Boromirs sounded loud as it reberverated around the chamber.
"In the wise words of my ever sympathetic brother: Buck up come on they ain't worth crying over crying for farm maids!" Faramir chuckled, Aragorn smiled, He had to. An image of Moria formed itself in his head. Of Boromir refusing to submit to him beacause of the cold of the stone floor.
"Here" Said Faramir offering his hand, It wasn't as calloused as B's " Let me take you somewhere"
Faramir wasn't as rough looking as his brother. His eyes were smaller and softer his hair curlier a lot less rugged but equally beautiful.
They neared a thick wooden door the tree of Gondor engraved in it. Aragorn ran his hand over the wood and felt Boromirs presence. Faramir pushed the door open. Boromir's chamber was impeccably tidy. He noticed some of the quirks he brought to the fellowship like folding his pygamas up neatly on his pillow and leaving his shoes at the end of the bed. And some of the habits Aragorn had never seen like storing socks on the end of the bedposts and keeping his weapons hung up on the wall.
For that moment Boromir was alive again, His Boromir was alive again. Faramir smiled
"Are you glad I brought you here?"
"Yes. Thank you"
"Would you like a moment alone?"
"Please"
Aragorn faced the window looking out at the peak of Mount Doom. The slam of the door told him Faramir had left. He walked slowly to the dressing table: a plain wooden affair only embellished, Like the rest of his furniture with the Gondorian tree inlaid with bright silver.
He took the silver lids of the various flutes and jars and breathed in the heavy scent of his lover. He sat down at the rich wooden table made for two, on the carved chair where Boromirs various trysts must have started. He fingered the crystal glasses and mimicked toasting.
He went back to the bed. A large red wood base, skilfully made spindles holding the white muslin drapes over the bed. A wooden headboard again with the mark of Gondor.
He smiled at the thought of Boromirs partners as they rested on the headboard looking up at the tree and realised that even in bed, the most private of places the responsibility of Gondor overshadowed Boromir.
The heavy linen covers still smelt of Boromir and the left pillow still held his hair. Aragorns hand stroked the gold locket holding a lock of Boromirs hair he now kept in the breast pocket of his clothes.
Aragorn remembered whispered words from Boromir promising that he and Aragorn would do what they were enjoying then in this bed, it was just as Boromir had described. By then Aragorn would be beyond speech and would just smile, not the smile he was giving now, the smile he had now was a phantom, a reflection of the delirious smile he held when Boromir held him.
His eyes were frozen on something far away, focusing on Boromirs spirit. Just like Boromir had promised Aragorn felt his presence after death, the feeling was stronger here like, Boromir was there like his arms were around him, His mouth on his, Hands slowly removing Aragorns tunic. Whispering promises and fealties of love. He wasn't sure after how long he had spent there, bathing in the feeling that Boromir was there again.
When Faramir woke him up he wasn't ready to give up the connection with his fallen hero. When Faramir tapped him, waking him from meditation he felt the pain come back. The first words Faramir said washed over him not registering with him.
The next thing he remembered was sitting in a chamber, a plainer chamber, lined with books and sitting there sobbing. Faramir was sitting next to him on the long bench.
"Shhh come on ....by the valar just shut up! ....................okay maybe that wasn't the best thing to say. Please. I hate seeing you like this."
His tears fell just as heavily as the night on Amon Hen until Faramirs lips brushed against the droplets of water on his cheeks.
Faramir pushed Aragorn backwards until he was spread out on the bench almost straddled by the red head.
Faramirs poetic fingers tilted Aragorns head till his neck was exposed and Faramir gently began to kiss it just below the earlobe that Faramirs moustache was tickling. Aragorn closed his eyes and pretended he was with Faramirs brother.
"Boromir" Aragorn hissed without meaning to.
Faramirs whole body tensed and withdrew from Aragorn who whimpered at the loss of the body so acheingly similar to his dead lovers. He had to go he knew instinctively that he had hurt Faramir and he didn't want to be there to hear it in his voice as well, so he ran.
He sped up the spiralled layers of the white city until he reached the peak of the walls surrounding the tip protecting 'his' castle. His feet teetered on the edge, the ground was so tempting.