Title: Tribute
Author: Sasjah Miller
Website: Arandur Mine (http://arandurmine.slashcity.org)
Pairing: Boromir/Aragorn, Faramir
Rating: PG-13
Archive: Please ask, I'll probably say yes
Disclaimer: Not mine, Tolkien's
A/N: Written in honour of Boromir's death on February 26, 3019
Third Age
Aragorn did not actually remember what day it was when he found
himself standing in the dying winter light of the evening before the
Halls of the Kings where the remains of all the Stewards and Kings
would rest until Middle-Earth would be born anew.
All remains save one. For there was nothing left of Boromir, save
the broken horn of Gondor, the vambraces and the dried blood on
the arrows that Aragorn had carried with him on his journey until
he had brought them here, where his own body would one day rest
as well.
As he entered the vault, the guards bowing their heads respectfully
before they continued their watch, Aragorn felt a wound reopen, a
wound that had never fully healed, but had only been covered by
the scab of daily worries and tribulations heaped upon a newly
crowned King in dire need of healing a broken kingdom.
For he knew then with absolute clarity that last year at this exact
hour he had cleansed Boromir's wounds, lain his broadsword on
his chest and kissed his cold brow one final time as they placed
him in the Elven boat and sent him off to Rauros Falls. The exact
day and hour that he had buried Boromir.
A moan escaped from Aragorn's lips as he fell down on his knees,
remembering that he would never lay eyes on beloved Boromir
again, nevermore fight beside him, their swords singing a bloody
song together, never again feel his body warm against his own, the
crackling of the fire concealing the sound of their whispered
endearments from Elvish ears.
"He would not have you mourn him so, my Liege," a soft voice
spoke and a gentle hand came to rest on his shaking shoulder. "I
knew my brother well and I know that he would not have his loved
ones be so heartbroken over him."
The reassuring weight of his Steward's hand on his shoulder and
the gentle words steadied Aragorn and he rose slowly, turning
towards Faramir, who held a flickering torch, their only
illumination; it had already grown fully dark outside.
"Nor would he have you grieve you alone, my Lord. 'Joy and
misery should be shared with those you love' he used to say, when
we celebrated a hard won victory and mourn those we lost in battle,
our goblets raised high in praise of honour and love. "
Faramir smiled wistfully, the torch light reflecting in his shining
eyes, as he took Aragorn's hand and lead his King towards the
crypt that held the only things that still remained of Boromir.
"Come. Come with me. We will remember him together. We will
honour him here today with our tears and grief, and honour him the
rest of our lives by serving Gondor the best way we can. The way
he would have done."
And Aragorn wept again, tears flowing freely and beside him
Faramir wept also, and they spoke long of lost love and honour
regained. Finally there were no more tears left and no more words
to be spoken, and they stood up and bowed a final time. When they
emerged from the crypt together new guards greeted them
solemnly and in the East the first soft light of dawn was glowing.
The End
Author: Sasjah Miller
Website: Arandur Mine (http://arandurmine.slashcity.org)
Pairing: Boromir/Aragorn, Faramir
Rating: PG-13
Archive: Please ask, I'll probably say yes
Disclaimer: Not mine, Tolkien's
A/N: Written in honour of Boromir's death on February 26, 3019
Third Age
Aragorn did not actually remember what day it was when he found
himself standing in the dying winter light of the evening before the
Halls of the Kings where the remains of all the Stewards and Kings
would rest until Middle-Earth would be born anew.
All remains save one. For there was nothing left of Boromir, save
the broken horn of Gondor, the vambraces and the dried blood on
the arrows that Aragorn had carried with him on his journey until
he had brought them here, where his own body would one day rest
as well.
As he entered the vault, the guards bowing their heads respectfully
before they continued their watch, Aragorn felt a wound reopen, a
wound that had never fully healed, but had only been covered by
the scab of daily worries and tribulations heaped upon a newly
crowned King in dire need of healing a broken kingdom.
For he knew then with absolute clarity that last year at this exact
hour he had cleansed Boromir's wounds, lain his broadsword on
his chest and kissed his cold brow one final time as they placed
him in the Elven boat and sent him off to Rauros Falls. The exact
day and hour that he had buried Boromir.
A moan escaped from Aragorn's lips as he fell down on his knees,
remembering that he would never lay eyes on beloved Boromir
again, nevermore fight beside him, their swords singing a bloody
song together, never again feel his body warm against his own, the
crackling of the fire concealing the sound of their whispered
endearments from Elvish ears.
"He would not have you mourn him so, my Liege," a soft voice
spoke and a gentle hand came to rest on his shaking shoulder. "I
knew my brother well and I know that he would not have his loved
ones be so heartbroken over him."
The reassuring weight of his Steward's hand on his shoulder and
the gentle words steadied Aragorn and he rose slowly, turning
towards Faramir, who held a flickering torch, their only
illumination; it had already grown fully dark outside.
"Nor would he have you grieve you alone, my Lord. 'Joy and
misery should be shared with those you love' he used to say, when
we celebrated a hard won victory and mourn those we lost in battle,
our goblets raised high in praise of honour and love. "
Faramir smiled wistfully, the torch light reflecting in his shining
eyes, as he took Aragorn's hand and lead his King towards the
crypt that held the only things that still remained of Boromir.
"Come. Come with me. We will remember him together. We will
honour him here today with our tears and grief, and honour him the
rest of our lives by serving Gondor the best way we can. The way
he would have done."
And Aragorn wept again, tears flowing freely and beside him
Faramir wept also, and they spoke long of lost love and honour
regained. Finally there were no more tears left and no more words
to be spoken, and they stood up and bowed a final time. When they
emerged from the crypt together new guards greeted them
solemnly and in the East the first soft light of dawn was glowing.
The End