Disclaimer: I do not Lord of the Rings, however the characters Aralya,
Bjourn, and Boromir (the younger) are of my creation and please ask before
using them. Oh, and Idylia is my creation, as well.
Natters and Morothewolfgod: Thanks, and I appreciate knowing that someone enjoys my story!
Taraisilwen: What's confusing? I'll try to clarify. Also, yes, they love each other very much. Shall I try to put in more sappy scenes between the two? Thanks for your review!
*****
Aralya and Boromir kept their hands firmly locked on each other's shoulders, tumbling down the grassy knoll. Both hit their heads and scraped their backs as they bumped over each other, but neither relented. They rolled to a stop, struggling against each other. Aralya, then Boromir, gained ground. Finally Aralya managed to flip Boromir onto his stomach, arms wrenched back, her knee on his back to pin him down.
"I won!" she insisted.
"Ow," Boromir replied. Then, stubbornly and partially joking, "no."
"Say it! Say that I won!" Aralya yelled, but a playful yell, and at the same time a command
"I won!" Boromir replied. "I won!" Aralya, lacking appendages, bit him on the hand. Boromir took this opportunity to slam backwards. Naturally she snapped her head back, and Boromir used the momentum and slight lapse in concentration to turn her onto her back. With an "oof" Aralya's head smacked the ground. "Say it," Boromir said with a semi-malicious grin.
"It," Aralya replied. Boromir smiled at her toothy grin, disheveled black hair and sparkling, playful green eyes. Aralya's grin widened at her brother's subtle smile, his own hair unnaturally aligned and his sky-blue eyes alight with mirth. Mirth. . .she rolled the word in her mind, on her mental tongue, and she liked it.
"Oh, getting smart, are we?" Boromir taunted. Aralya slipped her eyes to the side to distract him, then--as he was pinning her arms, used her legs to kick him on the upper thigh. Having long since shed their boots, the children both knew that a bare foot would do little, however little was enough.
"Say--" Aralya began, but she was interrupted by a call from a window high above them.
"Boromir! Aralya! I want both of you to come inside," Arwen called to her children. "It is getting late."
"But Mother--" Aralya began. Boromir shushed her with a quick shake of his head. Aralya submitted. The twins trudged up the hill, gathering discarded items as they went. Each picked up two boots and two socks, a cape and a jacket. Aralya gathered up and extra item, one her brother needed not worry about, and gazed spitefully at the thick green ribbon in her hand.
*****
"She is a wild one," Arwen mused, watching her daughter. "Different, unlike so many others. She will always be free."
"Perhaps it comes of being Numenorian," Elessar suggested. Arwen gasped and turned, not having heard him enter. Elessar smiled, moving closer to the window beside his wife, watching the children make their way slowly home. "This always being free that you speak of. No one will ever truly have her."
"Just like you," Arwen whispered. She knew it was important business, being King, but still she wished Elessar had more time to spend with his family. His children needed him, and by mercy she needed him as well.
"Oh, Arwen," Elessar sighed, but not an exasperated sigh, an almost happy sigh, as he wound his arms around her waist. "You will always have me."
As they kissed, they thought of each other, and of how much they had sacrificed to be together, and how, after all, it had been worthwhile. As the kiss ended, Arwen thought of how scratchy it felt to kiss a man with a beard. Elessar allowed his gaze to slip to the horizon, where the sun had set and the last glows of light only remained. "Is my love enough?" Elessar joked.
"It always shall be," Arwen replied. "And now, melamin, it is time for supper. Come, you know the children will not want to wait." She referred to 'the children', but meant the four of them that were not off and married-- Eldarion, the eldest son, who at twenty-three years was still devoting his love to politics, Bjourn, who at two years was only just beginning to take part in conversations, and the twins, Aralya and Boromir. "I love them all so much," Arwen reflected, "but they would not be here if I did not love you."
*****
"Aralya," Boromir said, but his voice shut off when he saw her face. Gone was the youthful exuberance of their earlier play, gone was the child within. Coldness had come over her, a coldness even Boromir was not within. But as with all things the spell broke, and Aralya looked up.
"We should get going," Aralya said. Boromir nodded gravely; his sister's spell gone, her mood grew to him. "Race you!" she shouted suddenly, and took off, hair flying out behind her and laugh carrying in the wind.
"Cheater!" Boromir accused as he took off after her. The two burst into their home, which they preferred to think of as an atmosphere ("home") more than an edifice. Through halls of stone they scrambled, laughter echoing after them and bouncing ahead. Aralya tripped and Boromir took the lead, but with a burst of sudden speed Aralya crashed through the doors into the dining hall. Boromir came to a short stop beside her.
For a moment everything froze. Aralya and Boromir stood in the doorway, panting, chests heaving. The buttons had fallen or been tugged off Boromir's vest in the day's play, and his shirt had come untucked. Aralya had not bothered (had forgotten) to change into the appropriate garb, in place of a cress she wore a boy's tunic (Boromir's, in this case) and leggings, terribly grass-stained. Eldarion, Arwen, Elessar, and Bjourn stared at them, as if awaiting an explanation.
"Mother," Aralya acknowledged with a cordial tilt of her head, "Ada. We apologize for our. . .lateness," she finished with a sly voice, hiding nothing.
"Not at all," Elessar said lightly, motioning for the twins to sit down. They did so, not daring to glance at each other least they laugh until they cried. The meal commenced in an unearthly silence, until Elessar finally broke and said through laughter, "You should have seen your faces!"
"Our faces!" Aralya exclaimed. "What about yours?" Most subjects did not speak this way to their king, even most daughters did not speak this way to their fathers, but Aralya and Elessar were quite different from 'most'. A secret smile seemed to echo throughout the halls as the royal family of Gondor was, for once, just that--a family.
*****
Aralya clutched the coverlet close to her chest as she bolted into a sitting position. Her breath was labored, but not in a manner of hard play-- in a manner of great fear. Sweat dripped from her forehead, poured down her back and washed over her sides. *Boromir?* she asked, hope and fear apparent. No answer came to her. *Boromir!* she shouted.
Trouble. It was something Aralya could sense, as though smelling it in the air. As she jumped out of bed and drew her sword, trouble cracked like blue fire in the surrounding air. Something had brought on that feeling of terror, and it had not been a dream.
Aralya's bare skin slapped the cold stone of the hall, and though her spine shivered she did not slow or turn back. With a sword clutched in her hand and clad in a white nightgown, Aralya looked like a vengeful ghost. Her pulse quickened, and she felt a sharp pain in her side. She grabbed her side, where the pain was, and fell against the wall, but did not give up. Fighting, she made her way further down the corridor.
Reaching Boromir's door, Aralya did not pause. She threw open the door and entered; and gasped. Blood, everywhere blood. The dresser, the walls, the bed, the curtains; even where Aralya stood was a puddle of blood.
Her muscles tensed up in shock as tears came to her eyes. Her fingers unclenched, and her sword clattered to the ground. The weapon immediately turned red with blood, the first dead blood ever to touch the metal of the blade.
Aralya's eyes had snapped shut the second she saw the blood, but with a shaky breath she forced them open again. The sight that met her was not pleasant. The blood remained, but the worst part she noticed newly now: a body from whence the blood had come.
"Boromir," she gasped, going to him. Falling to her knees, Aralya held her brother's head with a gentle tenderness she did not know she had.
"Aralya. . ." his voice was weak, and each word a great struggle.
"S-s-shh," Aralya told him, trying not to cry, "do not speak. You will be all right, Boromir, you will, just hang in there."
"No. . .I love you for ever, my sister. Take care of yourself," Boromir croaked out. Though his eyes showed great pain, they showed also sorrow, and a longing. *Be good, baby girl.*
In her head the voice was as strong and as healthy as ever, and for a moment she did not believe that he was so hurt. It was all a trick, some cruel dream from which she would soon awaken. And when she woke, Boromir would be by her side again.
But he would not, nor would he ever be again. Aralya felt in her soul the flutter as Boromir's light flickered, weakened, and then went out for ever.
She howled; a wordless, animal cry of raw pain. The shout echoed throughout the corridors and from room to room. Those who were asleep awoke with a chill in their bones. Those who were awake wondered what creature could make so awful a noise, what animal could out scream an orc with the voiced grace of a swan.
In the room of the second prince of Gondor, a lone girl broke down in tears. She buried her head in the blood-washed hair of her dead brother. Sobs escaped her lips as she rocked back and forth, back and forth, with his body in her arms.
Aralya ached all over. Indeed, when he had left their world, Boromir had been ripped away from Aralya. The two were more than inseparable, they were in each other's minds and thoughts, their very emotions were shared.
A white-hot pain had scorched Aralya, almost as if someone had set a torch to her stomach. The cadaver that had once been her other half gave her no comfort, but something to cling on to. An anchor, lest she, too slip away.
In the doorway, Arwen and Elessar stood, Eldarion behind them, none sure of what to do. Elessar took a step forward, then another, until his hand rested on Aralya's shoulder. She flew back and against the wall, letting the body fall from her hands. "It is all right," Elessar said softly, reaching out to her.
"No," Aralya whimpered. She tried to huddle into a ball, tried to protect herself from the fact that Boromir had gone, but there was nowhere to flee to. When she closed her eyes she saw his lifeless face, when she opened them she saw his blood.
At last Aralya slowly, slowly stopped crying. Deliberately she turned her head, peering at her fallen brother. As soon as she saw the body, she rushed to it, again cradling, and at the same time holding with a vice grip, as if the carcass was her life.
"Come now, Aralya," Elessar said softly. "Let him go, child." But Aralya shook her head, sobbing and shaking as she clung to the body of her other. Elessar had no wish to do what he knew to be necessary. Reaching forward, he lifted Aralya's hands, finger by finger, until they were free of Boromir's body, then he held her wrists tightly so she would not go again to the deceased.
"No, no, no," Aralya was sobbing. She thrashed but Elessar was stronger, despite her anger, despite her shame, and despite her grief.
"Come on, Aralya," Elessar instructed, half-helping and half-forcing her to stand.
Aralya began to fall. She was not retreating to the cover of a dead skin, but her knees would no longer support her. Elessar caught her before she hit the floor.
"All right, perhaps you are not in the condition to walk," he said gently. With one arm around her shoulders, Elessar managed to lead Aralya from the room, back to her own bed. She fell asleep at once.
"What will we do?" Arwen asked. She had not been in such a situation before, but Elessar seemed to know what he was doing.
"Tend to Aralya," Elessar instructed. "She must not wake up with blood on her hands and face. Try to clean her as best you can, then wait until I get back. The last thing we need is for her to awaken alone, she has been through enough. I will see to matters about Boromir."
Arwen nodded dumbly. As Elessar strode from the room, she turned to the window where Aralya always kept a bowl of water soaked with lavender. Usually Aralya used this water to wash her face in the morning. Now Arwen drew the bowl and cloth to her. Wetting the cloth, she gently lifted her daughter's arm and began to rub away the blood.
*****
It's not over yet! Well, I did promise a longer chapter and a big event. . .
Mwu ha ha ha ha!
Remember, good readers review! (and I will probably be too busy to update for a couple days, but if you absolutely must have more I shall try to get in a short chapter for you)
Natters and Morothewolfgod: Thanks, and I appreciate knowing that someone enjoys my story!
Taraisilwen: What's confusing? I'll try to clarify. Also, yes, they love each other very much. Shall I try to put in more sappy scenes between the two? Thanks for your review!
*****
Aralya and Boromir kept their hands firmly locked on each other's shoulders, tumbling down the grassy knoll. Both hit their heads and scraped their backs as they bumped over each other, but neither relented. They rolled to a stop, struggling against each other. Aralya, then Boromir, gained ground. Finally Aralya managed to flip Boromir onto his stomach, arms wrenched back, her knee on his back to pin him down.
"I won!" she insisted.
"Ow," Boromir replied. Then, stubbornly and partially joking, "no."
"Say it! Say that I won!" Aralya yelled, but a playful yell, and at the same time a command
"I won!" Boromir replied. "I won!" Aralya, lacking appendages, bit him on the hand. Boromir took this opportunity to slam backwards. Naturally she snapped her head back, and Boromir used the momentum and slight lapse in concentration to turn her onto her back. With an "oof" Aralya's head smacked the ground. "Say it," Boromir said with a semi-malicious grin.
"It," Aralya replied. Boromir smiled at her toothy grin, disheveled black hair and sparkling, playful green eyes. Aralya's grin widened at her brother's subtle smile, his own hair unnaturally aligned and his sky-blue eyes alight with mirth. Mirth. . .she rolled the word in her mind, on her mental tongue, and she liked it.
"Oh, getting smart, are we?" Boromir taunted. Aralya slipped her eyes to the side to distract him, then--as he was pinning her arms, used her legs to kick him on the upper thigh. Having long since shed their boots, the children both knew that a bare foot would do little, however little was enough.
"Say--" Aralya began, but she was interrupted by a call from a window high above them.
"Boromir! Aralya! I want both of you to come inside," Arwen called to her children. "It is getting late."
"But Mother--" Aralya began. Boromir shushed her with a quick shake of his head. Aralya submitted. The twins trudged up the hill, gathering discarded items as they went. Each picked up two boots and two socks, a cape and a jacket. Aralya gathered up and extra item, one her brother needed not worry about, and gazed spitefully at the thick green ribbon in her hand.
*****
"She is a wild one," Arwen mused, watching her daughter. "Different, unlike so many others. She will always be free."
"Perhaps it comes of being Numenorian," Elessar suggested. Arwen gasped and turned, not having heard him enter. Elessar smiled, moving closer to the window beside his wife, watching the children make their way slowly home. "This always being free that you speak of. No one will ever truly have her."
"Just like you," Arwen whispered. She knew it was important business, being King, but still she wished Elessar had more time to spend with his family. His children needed him, and by mercy she needed him as well.
"Oh, Arwen," Elessar sighed, but not an exasperated sigh, an almost happy sigh, as he wound his arms around her waist. "You will always have me."
As they kissed, they thought of each other, and of how much they had sacrificed to be together, and how, after all, it had been worthwhile. As the kiss ended, Arwen thought of how scratchy it felt to kiss a man with a beard. Elessar allowed his gaze to slip to the horizon, where the sun had set and the last glows of light only remained. "Is my love enough?" Elessar joked.
"It always shall be," Arwen replied. "And now, melamin, it is time for supper. Come, you know the children will not want to wait." She referred to 'the children', but meant the four of them that were not off and married-- Eldarion, the eldest son, who at twenty-three years was still devoting his love to politics, Bjourn, who at two years was only just beginning to take part in conversations, and the twins, Aralya and Boromir. "I love them all so much," Arwen reflected, "but they would not be here if I did not love you."
*****
"Aralya," Boromir said, but his voice shut off when he saw her face. Gone was the youthful exuberance of their earlier play, gone was the child within. Coldness had come over her, a coldness even Boromir was not within. But as with all things the spell broke, and Aralya looked up.
"We should get going," Aralya said. Boromir nodded gravely; his sister's spell gone, her mood grew to him. "Race you!" she shouted suddenly, and took off, hair flying out behind her and laugh carrying in the wind.
"Cheater!" Boromir accused as he took off after her. The two burst into their home, which they preferred to think of as an atmosphere ("home") more than an edifice. Through halls of stone they scrambled, laughter echoing after them and bouncing ahead. Aralya tripped and Boromir took the lead, but with a burst of sudden speed Aralya crashed through the doors into the dining hall. Boromir came to a short stop beside her.
For a moment everything froze. Aralya and Boromir stood in the doorway, panting, chests heaving. The buttons had fallen or been tugged off Boromir's vest in the day's play, and his shirt had come untucked. Aralya had not bothered (had forgotten) to change into the appropriate garb, in place of a cress she wore a boy's tunic (Boromir's, in this case) and leggings, terribly grass-stained. Eldarion, Arwen, Elessar, and Bjourn stared at them, as if awaiting an explanation.
"Mother," Aralya acknowledged with a cordial tilt of her head, "Ada. We apologize for our. . .lateness," she finished with a sly voice, hiding nothing.
"Not at all," Elessar said lightly, motioning for the twins to sit down. They did so, not daring to glance at each other least they laugh until they cried. The meal commenced in an unearthly silence, until Elessar finally broke and said through laughter, "You should have seen your faces!"
"Our faces!" Aralya exclaimed. "What about yours?" Most subjects did not speak this way to their king, even most daughters did not speak this way to their fathers, but Aralya and Elessar were quite different from 'most'. A secret smile seemed to echo throughout the halls as the royal family of Gondor was, for once, just that--a family.
*****
Aralya clutched the coverlet close to her chest as she bolted into a sitting position. Her breath was labored, but not in a manner of hard play-- in a manner of great fear. Sweat dripped from her forehead, poured down her back and washed over her sides. *Boromir?* she asked, hope and fear apparent. No answer came to her. *Boromir!* she shouted.
Trouble. It was something Aralya could sense, as though smelling it in the air. As she jumped out of bed and drew her sword, trouble cracked like blue fire in the surrounding air. Something had brought on that feeling of terror, and it had not been a dream.
Aralya's bare skin slapped the cold stone of the hall, and though her spine shivered she did not slow or turn back. With a sword clutched in her hand and clad in a white nightgown, Aralya looked like a vengeful ghost. Her pulse quickened, and she felt a sharp pain in her side. She grabbed her side, where the pain was, and fell against the wall, but did not give up. Fighting, she made her way further down the corridor.
Reaching Boromir's door, Aralya did not pause. She threw open the door and entered; and gasped. Blood, everywhere blood. The dresser, the walls, the bed, the curtains; even where Aralya stood was a puddle of blood.
Her muscles tensed up in shock as tears came to her eyes. Her fingers unclenched, and her sword clattered to the ground. The weapon immediately turned red with blood, the first dead blood ever to touch the metal of the blade.
Aralya's eyes had snapped shut the second she saw the blood, but with a shaky breath she forced them open again. The sight that met her was not pleasant. The blood remained, but the worst part she noticed newly now: a body from whence the blood had come.
"Boromir," she gasped, going to him. Falling to her knees, Aralya held her brother's head with a gentle tenderness she did not know she had.
"Aralya. . ." his voice was weak, and each word a great struggle.
"S-s-shh," Aralya told him, trying not to cry, "do not speak. You will be all right, Boromir, you will, just hang in there."
"No. . .I love you for ever, my sister. Take care of yourself," Boromir croaked out. Though his eyes showed great pain, they showed also sorrow, and a longing. *Be good, baby girl.*
In her head the voice was as strong and as healthy as ever, and for a moment she did not believe that he was so hurt. It was all a trick, some cruel dream from which she would soon awaken. And when she woke, Boromir would be by her side again.
But he would not, nor would he ever be again. Aralya felt in her soul the flutter as Boromir's light flickered, weakened, and then went out for ever.
She howled; a wordless, animal cry of raw pain. The shout echoed throughout the corridors and from room to room. Those who were asleep awoke with a chill in their bones. Those who were awake wondered what creature could make so awful a noise, what animal could out scream an orc with the voiced grace of a swan.
In the room of the second prince of Gondor, a lone girl broke down in tears. She buried her head in the blood-washed hair of her dead brother. Sobs escaped her lips as she rocked back and forth, back and forth, with his body in her arms.
Aralya ached all over. Indeed, when he had left their world, Boromir had been ripped away from Aralya. The two were more than inseparable, they were in each other's minds and thoughts, their very emotions were shared.
A white-hot pain had scorched Aralya, almost as if someone had set a torch to her stomach. The cadaver that had once been her other half gave her no comfort, but something to cling on to. An anchor, lest she, too slip away.
In the doorway, Arwen and Elessar stood, Eldarion behind them, none sure of what to do. Elessar took a step forward, then another, until his hand rested on Aralya's shoulder. She flew back and against the wall, letting the body fall from her hands. "It is all right," Elessar said softly, reaching out to her.
"No," Aralya whimpered. She tried to huddle into a ball, tried to protect herself from the fact that Boromir had gone, but there was nowhere to flee to. When she closed her eyes she saw his lifeless face, when she opened them she saw his blood.
At last Aralya slowly, slowly stopped crying. Deliberately she turned her head, peering at her fallen brother. As soon as she saw the body, she rushed to it, again cradling, and at the same time holding with a vice grip, as if the carcass was her life.
"Come now, Aralya," Elessar said softly. "Let him go, child." But Aralya shook her head, sobbing and shaking as she clung to the body of her other. Elessar had no wish to do what he knew to be necessary. Reaching forward, he lifted Aralya's hands, finger by finger, until they were free of Boromir's body, then he held her wrists tightly so she would not go again to the deceased.
"No, no, no," Aralya was sobbing. She thrashed but Elessar was stronger, despite her anger, despite her shame, and despite her grief.
"Come on, Aralya," Elessar instructed, half-helping and half-forcing her to stand.
Aralya began to fall. She was not retreating to the cover of a dead skin, but her knees would no longer support her. Elessar caught her before she hit the floor.
"All right, perhaps you are not in the condition to walk," he said gently. With one arm around her shoulders, Elessar managed to lead Aralya from the room, back to her own bed. She fell asleep at once.
"What will we do?" Arwen asked. She had not been in such a situation before, but Elessar seemed to know what he was doing.
"Tend to Aralya," Elessar instructed. "She must not wake up with blood on her hands and face. Try to clean her as best you can, then wait until I get back. The last thing we need is for her to awaken alone, she has been through enough. I will see to matters about Boromir."
Arwen nodded dumbly. As Elessar strode from the room, she turned to the window where Aralya always kept a bowl of water soaked with lavender. Usually Aralya used this water to wash her face in the morning. Now Arwen drew the bowl and cloth to her. Wetting the cloth, she gently lifted her daughter's arm and began to rub away the blood.
*****
It's not over yet! Well, I did promise a longer chapter and a big event. . .
Mwu ha ha ha ha!
Remember, good readers review! (and I will probably be too busy to update for a couple days, but if you absolutely must have more I shall try to get in a short chapter for you)