Title: What DIDN'T Happen In Lord of The Rings
Type: Whorefic, (slashfic/threesome in later chapters)
Rating: PG13 for this chapter, but NC16 for future chapters.
WDHI storyline: The Company runs into an ex-prostitute and uses her to
satisfy their desires.
Chapter summary: Chapter 2. Aragorn re-examines the situation.
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Chapter 2-Aragorn
It was dark when Aragorn opened his eyes. The remains of their campfire had long since burned itself out, and even the light of the stars were missing, blocked out as they were by thick black clouds. Listening in the dark, he could just make out the sounds of the other companions in their sleep, but still he felt vaguely uneasy. Who was keeping watch, he wondered, then realised with a start that nobody was standing guard.
Scrambling to his knees, Aragorn quickly took in the sleeping company. Seven. Eight people including himself. But where was Boromir? He cast around, searching for the missing person when his eyes fell on the dim silhouette of a hut. A hut? Why would there be a hut in the middle of the wilderness, he wondered. Suddenly the events of the night before rushed back to him. They weren't alone in the wilderness that night- they were camping in a lady's backyard. And Boromir had retired to the hut with her.
Beside him, Legolas sat up. "Awake?" the elf said quietly in his native tongue, careful not to rouse the others. Aragorn nodded, and Legolas shook his head and smiled in a somewhat distracted way. "I've been up the whole time. Go back to sleep, Aragorn. There need only be one watcher at night, and I am fully awake."
When Aragorn next awoke, the blue-grey light of dawn was filtering through the atmosphere, strangely cold on an already misty morning. He sat up and looked around. Legolas was gone, presumably to wash himself in the lake, and the others curled up around the campfire were still fast asleep. It must have been the dinner, Aragorn concluded. All that good food must have made their eyelids heavy beyond measure.
A dim red glow showed through the mist, and now that he was looking out for it, Aragorn could just barely make out Boromir's still outline, sitting quietly at the door of the hut, serenely smoking his pipe. He took a deep breath and smiled as the clean, crisp morning air filled his lungs. It rejuvenated him, and stepping over the prone bodies of his friends, Aragorn made his way over to the Gondorian and sat down beside him.
Boromir looked up and smiled, and Aragorn saw that the other man seemed different somehow. Strangely enough, he looked more at peace with himself than he had in ages. And perhaps it was not entirely his fault. Perhaps Boromir had been distanced within the Company. After all, Legolas and himself had had the company of elfkind during their stay at Rivendell and Lothlorien, and as for the hobbits, well, they had known each other all their lives. Gimli too was warming up to Legolas and the two were becoming inseparable, but who did Boromir have for him to turn to when the days grew long and cold? Perhaps what Boromir had told him some days ago was true after all, he thought guiltily. Perhaps Aragorn truly was ashamed of his own kind. Perhaps he really did see the elves as his true people, and the more deserving of the two races. If so, how could one such as he claim to be Isildur's heir?
Aragorn gave a small sigh and Boromir looked up in surprise. Without saying a word (and very possibly mistaking his sigh as a longing for the hobbit's weed), Boromir passed him the pipe he was smoking. Aragorn took it gladly. Now that he was out of his blankets, the mists were getting a little too cold for comfort. They sat there together in companionable silence for some time, savouring the silent morning. Every now and again, the pipe was passed from one to the other. At length, Aragorn rubbed his hands together and puffed on them in a vain attempt to warm them up again.
"Cold?" his companion asked.
"A little. And you?"
Boromir shook his head. "I've been smoking since I got up."
"Speaking of which, you're up early today," Aragorn teased. Boromir shrugged in an uncommitted fashion and turned busied himself with refilling the pipe. It must have been the pipeweed, Aragorn concluded. It must have warmed his bones. That must have been it. For despite the chilly weather, Boromir had cast off his heavy clothing and was dressed in only the black trousers and grey shirt that he wore beneath his mail. It was a plain shirt, made of cotton and stained with the rust it had collected over the years, but those intimate garments seemed to fit him better than the most royal of his embroidered robes. Sitting here in they morning greyness, he was no longer just another someone overshadowed by his showy garments, but a strong, proud individual who donned them as he would a second skin. He's opening up, Aragorn thought. And it's starting to show in the way he is dressed.
By now the others were about, and Sam and Pippin were busy getting some semblance of breakfast ready. Legolas had long since returned, clean and fresh from his wash, his hair just a little bit damp where the roots met his face.
Beside him, Boromir shook his head in quiet bemusement. "How does he keep himself so spotless?" he said, chuckling softly under his breath.
"I should say he makes it a point to be so." Aragorn replied, somewhat amused.
"Unlike us?"
"Well, yes. I suppose you can say that. When was the last time you washed, Lord Boromir?"
Boromir laughed. "I'll have you know that Men of Gondor bathe at least once a year! We aren't as filthy as you think, my lord Aragorn. Now when was the last time you had a decent wash?" he teased.
"It was some time before Rivendell, I'll grant that much," Aragorn admitted smilingly.
"Isn't it amazing how someone raised by such pristine elves can be so much grubbier than an average Man, don't you think?"
Aragorn laughed good-naturedly and waved off the teasing. "Shall we go now?" he said, tactfully changing the subject. "The lady is waking and we promised her we'd go hunting today."
And this time it was Boromir who waved him off. "She's no fine lady, Aragorn, just a common wench. But still, wench or not, we owe her a promise, and if you would wait awhile, I'll just go in and fetch the rest of my garb and we'll be off." And with that Boromir stood up, handed him the pipe and disappeared into the hut, closing the door behind him.
Now although Aragorn, son of Arathorn was born of woman, birthed by his mother into the race of man, his long years as a ranger had honed his sensed above that of an ordinary mortal. It was a skill that had often saved his life, but now he almost wished that his gifts weren't so pronounced. He heard the wench sit up and stretch, and Boromir chuckle to see her awake, his deep, musical laugh shortly followed by the soft crinkling of the mattress as he sat down beside her.
Aragorn didn't wait to hear more. He stood up and brushed himself down, then walked briskly towards the camp. As he passed Legolas, the elf met his eyes and winced. Aragorn grinned. No wonder the elf was unable to find his rest the night before. Even now that he stood some distance from the hut, the muffled groans of the two were hard to ignore, and one need only recall that Legolas had ears much keener than his to understand the other's predicament. He only hoped the dwarf and the hobbits were spared this agony.
Positioning himself comfortably amongst the others, Aragorn settled down and prepared himself for a long wait. When Boromir finally emerged, the sun was already high in the sky and a lazy drowsiness had overcome the Company. What was it about this place, Aragorn wondered, that made people so unhurried? It was a different sort of calm than that which they had just left. In Lothlorien, the mind and body cast away its cares and wakes each day refreshed and full of light and hope. But it was different here. If in Lothlorien, time passed unnoticed, here it was unimportant.
And why shouldn't it be? Why rush through a hurried job? There was always tomorrow. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that, stretching out forever into the mists of time, but the vastness of the future was unimportant. What counted was the now, and at present, the Company felt content to loll about mindlessly. Till tomorrow. And tomorrow. And maybe even the tomorrow that follows that. They had Forever on their side.
Chapter 2-Aragorn
It was dark when Aragorn opened his eyes. The remains of their campfire had long since burned itself out, and even the light of the stars were missing, blocked out as they were by thick black clouds. Listening in the dark, he could just make out the sounds of the other companions in their sleep, but still he felt vaguely uneasy. Who was keeping watch, he wondered, then realised with a start that nobody was standing guard.
Scrambling to his knees, Aragorn quickly took in the sleeping company. Seven. Eight people including himself. But where was Boromir? He cast around, searching for the missing person when his eyes fell on the dim silhouette of a hut. A hut? Why would there be a hut in the middle of the wilderness, he wondered. Suddenly the events of the night before rushed back to him. They weren't alone in the wilderness that night- they were camping in a lady's backyard. And Boromir had retired to the hut with her.
Beside him, Legolas sat up. "Awake?" the elf said quietly in his native tongue, careful not to rouse the others. Aragorn nodded, and Legolas shook his head and smiled in a somewhat distracted way. "I've been up the whole time. Go back to sleep, Aragorn. There need only be one watcher at night, and I am fully awake."
When Aragorn next awoke, the blue-grey light of dawn was filtering through the atmosphere, strangely cold on an already misty morning. He sat up and looked around. Legolas was gone, presumably to wash himself in the lake, and the others curled up around the campfire were still fast asleep. It must have been the dinner, Aragorn concluded. All that good food must have made their eyelids heavy beyond measure.
A dim red glow showed through the mist, and now that he was looking out for it, Aragorn could just barely make out Boromir's still outline, sitting quietly at the door of the hut, serenely smoking his pipe. He took a deep breath and smiled as the clean, crisp morning air filled his lungs. It rejuvenated him, and stepping over the prone bodies of his friends, Aragorn made his way over to the Gondorian and sat down beside him.
Boromir looked up and smiled, and Aragorn saw that the other man seemed different somehow. Strangely enough, he looked more at peace with himself than he had in ages. And perhaps it was not entirely his fault. Perhaps Boromir had been distanced within the Company. After all, Legolas and himself had had the company of elfkind during their stay at Rivendell and Lothlorien, and as for the hobbits, well, they had known each other all their lives. Gimli too was warming up to Legolas and the two were becoming inseparable, but who did Boromir have for him to turn to when the days grew long and cold? Perhaps what Boromir had told him some days ago was true after all, he thought guiltily. Perhaps Aragorn truly was ashamed of his own kind. Perhaps he really did see the elves as his true people, and the more deserving of the two races. If so, how could one such as he claim to be Isildur's heir?
Aragorn gave a small sigh and Boromir looked up in surprise. Without saying a word (and very possibly mistaking his sigh as a longing for the hobbit's weed), Boromir passed him the pipe he was smoking. Aragorn took it gladly. Now that he was out of his blankets, the mists were getting a little too cold for comfort. They sat there together in companionable silence for some time, savouring the silent morning. Every now and again, the pipe was passed from one to the other. At length, Aragorn rubbed his hands together and puffed on them in a vain attempt to warm them up again.
"Cold?" his companion asked.
"A little. And you?"
Boromir shook his head. "I've been smoking since I got up."
"Speaking of which, you're up early today," Aragorn teased. Boromir shrugged in an uncommitted fashion and turned busied himself with refilling the pipe. It must have been the pipeweed, Aragorn concluded. It must have warmed his bones. That must have been it. For despite the chilly weather, Boromir had cast off his heavy clothing and was dressed in only the black trousers and grey shirt that he wore beneath his mail. It was a plain shirt, made of cotton and stained with the rust it had collected over the years, but those intimate garments seemed to fit him better than the most royal of his embroidered robes. Sitting here in they morning greyness, he was no longer just another someone overshadowed by his showy garments, but a strong, proud individual who donned them as he would a second skin. He's opening up, Aragorn thought. And it's starting to show in the way he is dressed.
By now the others were about, and Sam and Pippin were busy getting some semblance of breakfast ready. Legolas had long since returned, clean and fresh from his wash, his hair just a little bit damp where the roots met his face.
Beside him, Boromir shook his head in quiet bemusement. "How does he keep himself so spotless?" he said, chuckling softly under his breath.
"I should say he makes it a point to be so." Aragorn replied, somewhat amused.
"Unlike us?"
"Well, yes. I suppose you can say that. When was the last time you washed, Lord Boromir?"
Boromir laughed. "I'll have you know that Men of Gondor bathe at least once a year! We aren't as filthy as you think, my lord Aragorn. Now when was the last time you had a decent wash?" he teased.
"It was some time before Rivendell, I'll grant that much," Aragorn admitted smilingly.
"Isn't it amazing how someone raised by such pristine elves can be so much grubbier than an average Man, don't you think?"
Aragorn laughed good-naturedly and waved off the teasing. "Shall we go now?" he said, tactfully changing the subject. "The lady is waking and we promised her we'd go hunting today."
And this time it was Boromir who waved him off. "She's no fine lady, Aragorn, just a common wench. But still, wench or not, we owe her a promise, and if you would wait awhile, I'll just go in and fetch the rest of my garb and we'll be off." And with that Boromir stood up, handed him the pipe and disappeared into the hut, closing the door behind him.
Now although Aragorn, son of Arathorn was born of woman, birthed by his mother into the race of man, his long years as a ranger had honed his sensed above that of an ordinary mortal. It was a skill that had often saved his life, but now he almost wished that his gifts weren't so pronounced. He heard the wench sit up and stretch, and Boromir chuckle to see her awake, his deep, musical laugh shortly followed by the soft crinkling of the mattress as he sat down beside her.
Aragorn didn't wait to hear more. He stood up and brushed himself down, then walked briskly towards the camp. As he passed Legolas, the elf met his eyes and winced. Aragorn grinned. No wonder the elf was unable to find his rest the night before. Even now that he stood some distance from the hut, the muffled groans of the two were hard to ignore, and one need only recall that Legolas had ears much keener than his to understand the other's predicament. He only hoped the dwarf and the hobbits were spared this agony.
Positioning himself comfortably amongst the others, Aragorn settled down and prepared himself for a long wait. When Boromir finally emerged, the sun was already high in the sky and a lazy drowsiness had overcome the Company. What was it about this place, Aragorn wondered, that made people so unhurried? It was a different sort of calm than that which they had just left. In Lothlorien, the mind and body cast away its cares and wakes each day refreshed and full of light and hope. But it was different here. If in Lothlorien, time passed unnoticed, here it was unimportant.
And why shouldn't it be? Why rush through a hurried job? There was always tomorrow. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that, stretching out forever into the mists of time, but the vastness of the future was unimportant. What counted was the now, and at present, the Company felt content to loll about mindlessly. Till tomorrow. And tomorrow. And maybe even the tomorrow that follows that. They had Forever on their side.