Disclaimer: Donít own them, make no profit from this.
Warning: Contains some mildly graphic imagery in the beginning.
Authorís Notes: Told from Boromirís POV
I have stood with a man before me and I have heard him plead for his life. I have heard the tone of his voice as he speaks, know well the desperate tones and with nothing more than a flick of my wrist I have taken his life away. Watched as unknown blood stained my sword and I have not felt a fraction of what I do now. He does not speak; he does not need to even open his mouth. His eyes tell me all that I need to know and so much more than I can handle.
Sometimes I wish he would say something, do anything but stand there. Itís that look in his eyes that gets me, that sets my heart to breaking with every moment that goes by until I canít even keep track of how many pieces it lays in now. And all I can do is wonder how he can find the strength to stand there and make anyone believe that his own doesnít lie in more than I could hope to count in all my years.
There are times I wish that he would not look to me as he does now, calling out to me without even saying it. He cannot even know the siren call he wields over me, he does not realize the effect it has. His eyes that seem to scream to me, to make me want to step in, force myself in the fray and do whatever I could to take that look away from him. I cannot protect him; every effort shows itself to be in vain.
If he would ignore me, turn a blind eye to my presence as though he could never have need of me, I think that I could bear that in more ease than this treatment of him I see now. The pain that resides in my own breast would be dear to me if it was that I had stolen it from his own. It would be easier to bear than the knowledge of my own weakness, my betrayal of his unwavering faith in me.
If I cannot keep him from harm then how have I stayed true to him? That is more important to me than any other thing. No matter of honor, no word of mine bears more weight with me than the safely calming knowledge that I have not lowered myself in his eyes. Any man may point at me and call me what he will, strip me of my bravery and valor, paint me the coward and that I could bear so long as I can look in his eyes and still see that his faith in me remains, his love.
Yet if only the one who causes him such pain would fight with blades, allow me to combat his attack in the way I know best, what would be another matter. Yet it is words that are the weapon of choice, cruelly edged words that eat at him the way his silence eats at me until it is all I can do to stay my tongue if I should know my words would but bring him more ill attentions. Ever have I been the less skilled of the two of us when words are brought to question. I lack his fluent romance with them
I long to pull him close to me; shield him from any hurt that may come with my own frame. My own pain comes to me in stride, no matters its form, but though he bears his own with no shirking, I am ill equipped to deal with it. I cannot understand how I should fend off the demons that haunt me when I see the hollowness that taints his eyes, that sends chills down my spine. This is a foe I cannot see to fend off.
To take him into my arms now would do naught but worsen this ordeal for him, though it would gift me with some peace of mind to hold him tight against me, ease his pain in the only way I know how. I cannot and so I only look at him, hoping that he can read my intentions in my eyes, know how I wish to draw him to me and never let go. My voice is strong when I speak, it does not betray me with any trembling, no sign of the weakness that is brought on instantly at the look in his eyes.
ďFather, will you not let him be?Ē