Picture, Part 2
After five months, Kate had finished paintings of not only the three main scenes, but also smaller portrait-type pieces of the individuals, and the publishers of the calendar were nearly orgasmic in their praise of her work.
Especially the ones depicting Legolas.
She'd spent extra time rendering the exact way his eyes gleamed, she knew, as well as the precise shade of pink in his lips, and their silken-looking texture. And even though it had sent her agent into raptures, it still hadn't done the real thing justice.
"Real thing," she snorted derisively. "There is no real thing here, just the workings of an unwell mind."
Kate didn't really know how else to describe it. No other artist—ahem, no other sane artist—fell into powerfully realistic dreams, interacted with only a particular character, sketched what they saw in said dream, and woke up with the exact same scenes rendered on the paper beside them on the bed.
She must be going insane. It was the only reasonable explanation.
And now, she was going to have to do it again. Three major paintings, three months of art. Nine more were needed, plus a cover. Ten more scenes in total, and the publishers were clamoring for them… even as Kate fought against returning to dream-land for her inspiration.
She looked down at the sadly crappy attempt at showing Boromir's death and sighed before ripping it from the pad and flinging it across the room. "This sucks," she complained to no one, and lay down on her bed.
She opened her eyes to find herself in the middle of teeming orcs as Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli hacked and slashed through the group of invaders. Two orcs in a row ran through her, resulting in that familiar icy-hot jangle of her nerves, and she yelped at the shock of it.
Legolas immediately whipped around to face her, his eyes narrow but not as angry as they'd been last time. "You are distracting," he hissed. "Leave."
"Gladly," she told him, and jogged out of the melee. Listening hard, she caught the sound of another fight in the distance, and went in that direction. Rounding a particularly large tree, she stopped to see Boromir fighting against a half-dozen Uruk-hai while Merry and Pippin hid behind him, their little swords poking in the kneecaps any who came near enough.
Kate plunked herself on the ground and began to draw. The powerful lines of Boromir's body, the swirl of his cloak as he struck and parried, the utter commitment to protecting the Hobbits, the… tears pouring down his face.
Oh, crap, Kate thought, and found her own eyes filling. He knew he was going to die, and didn't falter. This was his redemption, his payment for his weakness. She didn't bother to look down at her pad as she drew, just let her hand take over as she locked her gaze on the scene.
A gob of spittle flew from an Uruk's mouth, Merry hooted in triumph when his sword stabbed right into the fleshy part of another Uruk's thigh, and Boromir fought on. Kate wept unashamedly at his strength and courage, and then there was just one left.
Boromir was panting hard, the right leg of his trousers wet and dark with blood from a minor wound, as he turned to face the last Uruk-hai. All four of them gasped to see him slowly and with great deliberation aim his bow directly at the Man.
"No!" Kate screamed, even as she knew it was useless, and dropped her pad to place herself between the Uruk archer and Boromir. The arrow flew through her to strike him with a sickening thud, and she screamed again, frantic to shield him somehow even as a second and third arrow were released with twangs from the Uruk-hai's bow.
"No," she moaned, falling to her knees beside him, and was shocked to find she could touch him. Her amazed eyes flew up to meet his.
"Protect… the hobbits," he rasped.
"I can't, " Kate replied miserably. "I can't do anything, I tried to keep him from shooting you but the arrows went right through me."
"You have been here as I fought?" he asked, incredulous, and coughed up a gout of blood. Kate used the hem of her shirt to wipe his face.
"Yes," she said simply. "I have never seen anything so brave in my life."
His gaze, a dark anguished blue, latched onto her face. "You cry for me?"
Kate rubbed her hand over her cheek, smearing it with his blood but not caring. "I don't know why you can see me all of a sudden," she said, ignoring his question. "I thought Legolas was the only one who could."
He coughed again, and she patted her shirt against his mouth. "I am dying," he told her.
"I know." Maybe that was why… she yanked off his leather gauntlet and gripped his hand tightly. "I won't leave you."
"Good," he gasped, letting his head fall back. Kate scrambled forward to pull him against her, propping his head on her lap. "Where is Aragorn?"
"I don't know…" Kate squinted into the trees, but could see nothing. "Legolas!" she screamed. "Legolas!"
Seconds later the elf came crashing through the woods toward them. "How is this possible?" he demanded at the sight of the woman holding Boromir.
"I don't know," she wailed. "I couldn't do anything. The archer took Merry and Pippin."
Legolas stared at her a long moment, and then Gimli and Aragorn stumbled into view, the latter falling to his knees beside Boromir.
The wounded man declared his support for the future king, and insisted he would have been a stalwart champion and defender. Boromir's eyes were beginning to glaze over, and Kate began to sob.
"Why do you cry for him?" Legolas asked, his voice low in her ear.
"How can I not?" she asked, smearing more blood over her face as she scrubbed at her tears. "He didn't want the ring, not really. It poisoned him, made him into something he despised, and he paid for it with his life. It's the most tragic fucking thing I've seen in my life. How can I not cry?" She was screaming at him now, and not caring in the least. "Why aren't you crying, you cold bastard?"
To her shock, she felt his arm come around her shoulders and squeeze hard, and she collapsed against him, sobbing into his shoulder even as Boromir's grip on her hand began to slacken. "Oh, God," she moaned, pulling from Legolas to hover over Boromir.
"You will not leave me?" he whispered.
"Never," she promised, her tears falling on his hand and face, making tracks in the dirt and blood there.
"What is that?" Aragorn demanded hoarsely, and Kate's head snapped up to see the Man's gaze locked onto the clean trails through the grime. She stared in shock at Legolas, who looked equally surprised. Aragorn drew his finger down Boromir's cheek. catching moisture from a tear on his fingertip. "Someone cries for you, Boromir."
"It is an angel," he said, his voice wheezing in his chest. "An angel come for me." Behind Kate, Legolas snorted skeptically, and she glared at him. "I can die now that my angel is here."
Kate slumped down until her head touched his chest, and his other hand came up to rest on her hair. "Farewell, my king," he said, and died. Kate heard the faint thumping of his heart slow and stop, and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.
*
When Kate awoke, her head was pounding furiously. Her pulse thudded powerfully through her skull, and the force of it was making her queasy. It was completely dark in her room, and she seemed to have turned over in her sleep as she was sprawled face-down. No wonder she'd squirmed around, that dream had been terrible, utterly horrific.
She'd known he was going to die, but she'd tried to stop it anyway, and had been devastated by it when it had happened. More tears filled her eyes, and she whispered, "Boromir," before she was overcome.
"What?" asked a groggy, and male, voice from beside her.
Kate choked in mid-sob. "What?" She pushed herself to a sitting position and groped in the darkness for the bedside lamp. Finding it finally, she flicked it on and gasped to find Boromir lying on the other side of the bed.
