Warning in advance: this story is rather - ok, very - OOC. I don't have the heart to take it off though, so bear with me. Written quite some time ago. Boromir has kidnapped Arwen and is keeping in Gondor. She does not love him and wants nothing more than to be with Aragorn, (whom she is reluctant to mention to Boromir).Time period is not fully developed right now, sorry! However, the war of the ring would not be a factor in this story. Short piece, my first stab at fanfiction - please review!
He found her in one of the many gardens of his city. This one was especially beautiful, with fruit trees and rose bushes flowering around expertly carved stone benches. It faced the mountains that sprang up behind Gondor, on the sixth and second highest level. Silver light from the waxing moon fell across her slender shoulders on which rested a deep blue cloak, finely embroidered on the hem. The hood was pulled over her hair and shadowed her smooth skin. She faced the mountains, her head raised slightly to the moon. As he walked toward her, she did not move.
"Arwen", he said her name and stood infront of her. Still, she did not look at him but kept her gaze on the moon. "Arwen", he said again softly. "Why do you stand alone here, in silence?"
He touched her chin, tilting in slightly so that she could not avoid his gaze. Their eyes met for a moment until Arwen looked down, her long lashes covering deep eyes in which he had looked countless time, in vain, for any sign of love for him.
"There is a beauty in silence", she answered, her voice barely above a sigh. Boromir looked at her porcelain skin and finely shaped features.
"Yes…", he reached a hand out to her face, "but it is paled by your own beauty", he whispered and gently stroked her cheek. She shrank from his touch and pulled the hood closer around her face.
"Please, my lord…"
"Why do you recoil? I will not hurt you". Boromir sighed and paced the small garden restlessly. It hurt him to see her gloomy, and he felt guilty for keeping her in Gondor. Yet what else could he do? He could not live without her near him, however unhappy she was.
He looked at Arwen, wearing underneath her cloak the red gown he had had sent to her chambers. It was richly embroidered with fine silk thread and tiny jewels and clung to her slender body. He fought to control the desire that he felt rising in him.
"Arwen", he said again and pushed the hood back from her face, letting his hands rest on her shoulders. "Will you not even speak to me? I have given you everything any woman could ask for – fine jewels and gowns, cloaks of silver and gold, servants to tend your every need, and Arwen, I love you more than my own life! I would value your love above the world…..and yet, you will barely speak to me".
When she did nothing, Boromir dropped his hands and continued pacing. When the silence had gone unbroken for too long, and he had grown impatient, he strode up to her and reached for the clasp that held the cloak at her neck. "It is too warm an evening to wear a heavy cloak". Her hand flew up to the brooch but he firmly pulled it away and unfastened the clasp. The cloak fell away from her shoulders and to the ground. She stepped away from Boromir and bent to pick it up.
"I am cold, lord", she said, her voice icy. He caught her arm and stepped over the cloak.
"Then I will keep you warm". He slipped his arms around her waist, and tightened his grip when she tried to pull away. "Arwen, you torment me," he murmured into her ear. "I ache for you. Why can you not love me? I am willing to give you everything….I would marry you and make you my queen. I will rise above my father and become a king for Gondor. But I cannot rule, no, I cannot live without you by my side".
She turned her head away and said softly, "You will do none of this, for I am already bound to the true King of Gondor."
Boromir swung her around sharply and held her eyes with his own. "You speak treason! It cannot be true." He added in a whisper, "No other man shall have you".
Boromir pulled her to him and kissed her lips, tense and resistant. She had not the strength to pull from his grasp though, and she knew he would have his way. He felt her mouth relax under his and drew her more closely to him, pulling her arms around his neck. She turned her head, allowing it to rest against his breast. If only the man holding her was Aragorn, whom her heart ached for. He had not forced her, however gently, to do what she did not want, as Boromir was doing now. She knew that Aragorn would not be able to take her from Gondor by himself – it was much too heavily guarded. He would not tell her father though; to risk the men of Imladris and Gondor becoming angry with each other was not wise. Arwen wept at the thought of her beloved in the wild, and what he would think if he saw her in the arms of Boromir.
She tried again to pull away, but Boromir held her tightly, kissing her neck and face. He thrust his hand into her hair, pulling the pins out and letting it fall down her back in thick waves. He pulled her chin up and kissed her again, deeply.
"You will learn to love me Arwen", he whispered. But how? he thought. He had tasted the salt of her tears on her lips. He moved his hands to her shoulders and held her slightly away from him. "Who is this king you spoke of?" he asked her, trying to hold his voice steady. Another tear glistened on her cheek, and he gently brushed it away.
"What", she asked, "would you do if I told you?" She watched Brormir's face through her tears and saw a steely glint in his eye. "Seek him out and kill him", she answered her own question. She saw a look of surprise on his face and continued, "You will have met more than twice your match though, and would need over a dozen men to defeat him."
Boromir's look of surprise turned to anger and he raised his hand as though he would strike her. Taking advantage of his loose grip on her shoulders, Arwen stepped away and, hurridly picking up the cloak, fled to her chambers. From one of the windows, she saw Boromir still in the garden, a silver chain in his hand. Arwen felt her throat and realized the necklace Aragorn had given her was missing. She watched Boromir tuck it into his tunic and slowly walk from the garden. She threw the red dress he had given her on the floor, and pulled on a simple white shift. She hated being in Gondor, being near Boromir, with every fiber of her being. The hopelessness of her plight seemed overwhelming …. she sank onto the bed and allowed herself to cry, for the necklace, her captivity, and her love.
In the morning, Arwen found a silver chain outside her door, but not the one Aragorn had given her. On the chain was strung a charm with Boromir's personal insignia, intertwining around the emblem of Gondor. She looked at it in disgust, and left it on the threshold.
A/N: – I'm aware that these characterizations aren't exactly like Tolkien's, but you must forgive me, as I am not a literary genius. Hopefully I'll be able to continue this story (or more accurately, START the story, and work around this piece) when my muse returns and my homework leaves. Thank you to those who give suggestions and actually criticize (constructively, that is!) And again,please reveiw!Any suggestions as to whatyou would like to see happen are welcome, although I have a blurry outline in mind of how I want this to develop. Hope you enjoyed!