OOC: Here's a lovely long chapter for all of you! As always, I sincerely hope you're enjoying the story thus far and feel encouraged to leave reviews by the time you're done scrolling!
He was partially woken by a strange noise, shifting in his sleep as he decided it was yet another one of the strange noises that occasionally emerged from the shadowed depths of the forest. He pulled his cloak tightly around him as the midnight breeze tickled him, nuzzling his head into the soft earth as he tried to return to sleep. However, the noise repeated itself once more and he opened his slowly, straining to determine its source.
It had sounded slightly choked, whatever it was, almost like a sob. He lay still as he listened closely, steadily growing more and more awake as his hand slipped to the hilt of his sword. Fangorn made him incredibly uneasy, for although Gandalf had assured him he was safe, Boromir was never unable to escape the feeling that he was being watched constantly, as if the forest itself was looking over him, evaluating its visitor. Over the past two days, he had grown steadily more accustomed to the moans and whispers of Fangorn, but was unable to resist the shivers that traveled up his spine.
But this noise, whatever is was, was different. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand as he yawned, running a hand through his messied hair as he carefully sat up. Wincing slightly as his wounds briefly burned with pain at the motion, he slowly began to search the little glade for the source of the soft noises. The moonlight shone directly into his eyes and he blinked in momentary confusion, then rose to his feet as he took a few cautious steps forward while his eyes adjusted to the hazy, dark forms that surrounded him.
Yet there was something after all, yes, something small just at the edge of the tree line. He tilted his head as he tentatively walked towards it, stopping as he realized it was a figure resting on its knees. Boromir then withdrew his sword, holding it at the ready as he strode forward and confidently stated, for he could not show fear in a situation such as this, "Show yourself!"
The clouds far above his head, hidden beneath the thick canopy of ancient leaves, then shifted and moonlight poured down upon the stranger like water, flowing softly and elegantly as he was illuminated. But it was not a man, he realized with a choked sob as his sword fell from his hand in shock, staggering back in absolute disbelief as he found himself staring into the pale, flickering eyes of Amera.
She stared at him with wide eyes that brimmed with tears as her bruised lips silently whispered his name, her frail shoulders shaking violently beneath matted hair. She looked fresh from battle as his eyes traveled over her stained hauberk and crimson hands, splatters of blood dotting her fair face like freckles as they stared at each other. He wanted to call out to her, to say her name, to let her know that he loathed himself for hurting her, for disappointing and that he wept for her. But it could not be her, for he had watched her die, he reminded himself as he struggled to repress the tears that threatened to appear in his eyes.
Amera had died at Amon Hen and he had seen it, had watched helplessly as she had taken an arrow no doubt meant for him, had her slender legs had twitched as thick fingers had tightened around her throat…and how still she had lain amongst the golden leaves as they were slowly stained with her blood. Even now as he stared at her, he hated his heart for soaring with hope, for it was not possible. What was before him was nothing more than a trick of the mind, a creation of this accursed forest. He turned away, closing his eyes as he took a ragged breath, for he could not lose her again. Not a second time.
"Boromir?" Her soft, lilting voice whispered to him, a tremor of emotion rippling through it but he turned his head, biting his lip roughly as he waited for the apparition to disappear, to free him from this haunting. "Boromir, please…please, look at me." Her voice cracked in its desperation, filled with terror to match his own as his heart beat wildly beneath his broad chest.
Boromir cursed himself as he turned, swallowing hard as a tear escaped his proud eyes, for he knew that to look upon her would break his heart anew and he would be rife with grief once more. But still he turned, for he needed her, even if just a glimpse of her stormy eyes and pale lips, because he loved her. He whispered her name as he stared at her, her legs trembling like those of a newborn fawn as she struggled to rise, and her gaze met his once more.
And he knew then, deep within himself in that unnamed place, that Amera had been returned to him.
He ran to her and her to him.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Amera wept openly as she wrapped her arms around his neck, running her fingers over his face and shoulders as she repeated his name. A hundred questions stirred within her but she cared nothing for them, for all that mattered now was that somehow, Boromir lived. He laughed as his hands moved through her tangled hair, pulling it back from her face as he rubbed his face against her own. She rejoiced at the familiar feeling of his beard as it tickled her and the strong arch of his nose as it brushed her cheek. He murmured her name in disbelief as his strong hands wrapped around her, drawing her close as his chest heaved with emotion.
She rested a hand carefully against his chest and brushed her fingers over where the arrows had entered him, now gone. Her fingers trembled as she stroked just above his heart, searching for some sign of that which should have been his ending. She shook her head in disbelief, unable to form words as her breath as stolen from her. He then took her small hand in his and his calloused fingers closed around her own. Amera looked up, her heart soaring as a small smile crossed his proud face and his piercing eyes shone, the wind stirring his copper hair as he looked to her.
He kissed her deeply and tenderly, his thumb brushing the delicate arch of her jaw as she laughed and tasted her tears on their lips. She breathlessly whispered, "I love you," over and over again, weeping in joy as she was given the chance to state that which she had needed to for so long. Boromir deepened the kiss with reckless abandon at this and she swayed slightly as her legs trembled from exhaustion and the rush of emotions souring through her. Before she could fall, his arms shifted to beneath her knees and he held her in his muscled arms, just as he had so very long ago in Moria, and as he carried her she imagined that she could feel his heart beating; steady, proud in tune with her own as their lips never broke.
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
As their furious kisses had subsided, Amera had grown immensely self-conscious about her weathered appearance, though in honesty he cared not, for he had grown accustomed to see her pale face smudged with dirt, her hair unkempt and her robes weathered. She had laughed and begged him to let her go, even as he had planted kisses across her cheek and neck, her eyes shining as she insisted upon bathing immediately. Boromir had rolled his eyes and let her go as he retreated to his resting place beneath the great oak, resting his arms behind his head. He closed his eyes in absolute comfort as she bathed in the little pool before him, smiling softly as the gentle sounds of splashing lulled him nearly to sleep. Still, his curiosity and desire tempted him to briefly open his eyes as he looked to her and watched her move beneath his lashes.
She slid through the dark water as if at one with it, traces of blood and grime melting away as she shimmered in the moonlight. Her dark hair slid over her shoulders and he traced the arch of her collarbones and shoulder blades with his eyes tenderly, her scars raw and rough against her pale skin. Amera was so profoundly inhuman in her grace, all at once so different from the blood stained warrior that had stared at him with hope-filled eyes but a few short minutes ago. She was so very strange, he smiled as the water rippled as she soared beneath it, trapped between fae and feral.
Boromir quickly closed his eyes as she emerged once more, listening to the peaceful rippling of water as she stepped from the pool. He bit the corner of his lip to resist a laugh as he heard her curse beneath her breath, more than likely stumbling just as she had the first time he had come across her bathing. Her footsteps were gentle as she padded towards him and, upon the touch of her small hand, he opened his eyes and turned to her as she laid beside him. She was dressed in a loose, flowing shirt and leggings, her feet bare as they pointed towards her hauberk and leather that rested beside the pool. Her wet hair was plastered around her face as she grinned, the beginnings of waves appearing as it slowly dried. A sliver of purple remained above her right eye, though her eyes flickered with that strange, luminous intensity that had always captivated him.
Amera then rested her head upon his chest delicately and curled her slender form against him, resting a hand across his torso as she shifted her gaze to look at him. He met her with a smile as he stroked his thumb along her hand as he rested his own above it, grinning as she whispered, "How is this possible, Boromir? You…you died."
"And so I should have, but by some strange, soft grace I did not."
"….Speak of your tale first and I then shall of mine."
He nodded, closing his eyes as he thought back to Amon Hen and of the strange, sweet rain that had poured from the grey sky.
OOOOOOOOOOOO
The sweet rain had warmed his aching body, relieving him of the agony that made each breath torturous, stealing his very breath from him as he had given into the darkness that called out him. He knew nothing but the gentle caress of the raindrops as they slid along his pale skin, each seeming a brief brush of Amera's lips, so very cool and soft to him. His chest slowly rose and fell beneath the great weight of the twin arrows that had plunged deep within him as he knew his time had come. He had failed in his mission, had forsaken the bonds of Fellowship in his greed and lust for power.
As Boromir slowly slipped away beneath the grey sky and pouring rain, his auburn hair dark against his shoulders as he lay amongst the golden leaves, he last thought of the Fellowship he left behind, of Frodo, of his beloved Merry and Pippin and finally of Amera as he left his pain behind.
Yet it was not to be, for a soft voice spoke to him, beautiful and sorrowful in the darkness, "It is not yet your time."
I broke my vow to Frodo. I could not keep my promise to protect. I…I deserve as such.
The voice laughed softly, distinctly feminine as it reminded him of Amera and he thought of her quick, flashing grin as it called out to him gently, "You hold the heart of one whom I cherish, son of Gondor, and for that I have intervened."
I…I do not understand.
The power of the rain increased then and he gasped as he felt life slowly return to his limbs as the raindrops soaked him, their sweet warmth restored the light to his vision. Who are you?
The voice faded as he slowly blinking, groaning as he became aware once more of the fiery pain that shot through his chest with each breath, whispering, "I am she that weeps."
"Boromir!" He heard a distant cry, blinking in confusion and pain as the rain slowly stopped, leaving nothing but a sweet, earthy scent behind as its reminder. Swallowing hard as he choked down a sob of pain, he saw a blurry figure race towards him from across the crest of the hill, dark and distant as his vision swarmed. His eyes grew heavy and he closed them, focusing on the slow beat of his heart as the whispers of the soft voice echoed through his mind.
Boromir opened his eyes as he felt strong hands cradle his head and looked up to see Aragorn above him, his eyes wide with shock. He coughed and tasted blood on his tongue, his voice thick and raspy as he choked out in his desperation, "They've taken the little ones…Merry and Pippin," He gasped then in pain, coughing once more before finishing, "And Frodo, what of Frodo?"
"He has gone to Mordor with Sam. He is safe." Aragorn swallowed hard, he saw, and his eyes lingered over the arrows that pierced his chest. "And Amera," Boromir bit his lip, trembling as he whispered, "Amera is dead."
Aragorn froze at this, his mouth opening slightly in disbelief as Boromir continued, his voice cracking, "Her body lies up the hill."
The ranger stared at him, shaking his head slowly as he murmured, "I saw no body, Boromir, only blood."
He opened his mouth to reply, but the darkness and pain around him grew too great once more, and he gave into it in his exhaustion.
OOOOOOOOOOOO
Boromir practically collapsed onto the soft forest floor, groaning with relief as his exhausted arms received a much needed rest from the day's rowing. Wincing at the motion, he removed his hauberk and shirt, reaching for the poultice Aragorn had made two days prior. He smeared the thick paste onto his fingers and bit his lip, closing his eyes as he prepared for the inevitable pain that accompanied the healing.
He cursed loudly, hissing as he struggled to rub the mixture into the two wounds that dotted his chest. Once finished, he blinked away the tears that had sprung up in his eyes and returned to the Anduin as he knelt to wash his hands, then moved to make sure the canoe was properly secured on the riverbank. Confident the gentle tide would not pull it away, he nodded and prepared a small fire, wrapping his cloak tightly around his shoulders as the stars slowly began to appear in the sky above him.
Boromir sighed as he absently chewed a piece of lembas, thinking of Aragorn, Gimli and the elf as they no doubt raced across the plains towards Merry and Pippin. He had awoken to find the arrows removed from his chest and the blinding pain had decreased, though movement was still nearly unbearable. Legolas had remarked that he was immensely lucky to be alive, to which Gimli had harrumphed an agreement as he looked over him. Aragorn had carefully dressed his wounds by the firelight and seemed in disbelief as Boromir's broad chest still yet rose and fell.
He had blinked back tears as the ranger had informed him that they could not find Amera's body, fury rising in him as he tried to block out the horrible images that sprung to his mind, of her fair, lifeless body in the hands of such beasts. But they had not the time to continue to search, for even now Merry and Pippin were held captive, taken as prisoners towards the dark spires of Orthanc. Boromir knew he was far too weak to continue with them, for he swayed even as he tried to stand, and had no hope of matching the necessary pace.
And so he had told the three to go forth without him and despite their reactionary anger, he saw that they too that it had to be so. He had said he would take one of the canoes and return to Lorien upstream, but was silent as Gimli had inquired as to where he would go after that. Legolas had given him a small pack of supplies and had given a brief nod of parting, while Gimli had given him a firm, decidedly masculine hug after awkwardly shifting his feet. Aragorn had pulled him aside and they spoke of what lay before them and of how their paths would cross once more. Boromir had rested his hand on the shoulder of his friend for a moment, lowering his gaze as he then knelt before his king, as he should have done long ago.
He sighed now as he curled up against the soft forest floor and looked up at the stars, a thousand images floating through his mind as he breathed in the cool night air, his hair tickling his neck as it was gently stirred. He grew ever closer to Lorien, that was true, but his progress was frustratingly slow, for it was no easy task to paddle against the flow of the Anduin in his weakened state. Still, he thought with a sinking heart, as he lay beneath the moonlight Merry and Pippin were tormented at the hands of their captors and Frodo and Sam trekked over rock and bog as they prepared for Mordor.
Boromir flinched once as he thought of Amera before he could help herself, cursing himself for conjuring up the pale light of her eyes as he looked to the night sky, biting his lip as he closed himself off from all thoughts of her, for the grief was yet too great. Still, as he closed his eyes and gave into slumber, he dreamt of her standing on the shining walls of Minas Tirith, her dark hair swirling over pale shoulders as she looked down over that which he loved more than anything. His chest fell and rose with a renewed pace as he thought of the softness of her lips as they had captured his own, of the way her fingers had glided over his jaw and how her body had molded against his, each curve and angle moving against him as they had kissed.
He was suddenly awoken by a snap jab to his side, her eyes opening immediately as he instinctively drew his sword. He swiftly rose, prepared to defend him, but fell over rather lamely as the pain in his chest stole his breath and balance from him. He looked up angrily at the figure before him, but froze as the flickering firelight illuminated the being before him.
His sword fell from his hand as he stared, blinking furiously as he was convinced his wounds had created the image before him, for it was not possible. Gandalf, however, seemed rather unsurprised as he looked down at Boromir. A small smile crept over his face, familiar to Boromir yet different, from while it was certainly, somehow, the wizard that stood before him…he was not the same that had fallen into the dark of Moria. He opened his mouth, preparing stammer out the questions that suddenly arose within in, but was silenced by Gandalf, who calmly stated, "We have far too much to do, Boromir, for you to simply sit and stare like that.
Boromir blinked, then cautiously took the hand that was extended to him as Gandalf nodded, "We have a great many things that need to be seen to and I would have you by my side."
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
They lay in silence save for the quiet beating of their chests as Amera quietly finished her version of the past few days. She had lied to him about the majority of what had been inflicted upon them for she had seen the guilt that welled up in his eyes as she had briefly mentioned their misery. She had listened to his own tale intently, swallowing tears as she remembered the soft words of Nienna and knew that by her grace, Boromir had been spared. Now, she looked to him as he bit his lip, pain evident in his eyes as he whispered, "Amera, I know that my mistakes cannot be undone nor can I hope to atone for what I did to you, but I swear," His fingers brushed her cheek and her heart fluttered, "I swear to you, I am so sorry. With all my heart, I am sorry."
She smiled faintly at this, touched by his great sincerity, and whispered in return as she moved aside a stray lock of hair that had fallen over his eyes, "I told you once before, Boromir, you are forgiven." He watched her in silence and she met his gaze, marveling inwardly at the strong curve of his cheekbones and the proud of definition of his jaw, of the arch of his nose and the laugh lines that would appear with his rare grins that were radiant enough to stir her heart. Finally, she laughed softly as she looked into his piercing green eyes, losing herself in the flecks of glimmering emerald.
"I love you, Boromir."
And they kissed deeply beneath the thick leaves above their heads, illuminated by the pale trails of moonlight that gently fell upon them, each amazed by the strange grace that had been shown unto them and had brought them together once more, their hearts stirred by this small, great happiness that shone brightly in a world of shadows.
