He Was Dead…

 

Author:  Kevswitchau

Pairing:  Boromir/?

Genre:  LOTR

Rating:  M

Disclaimer:  Just borrowing the character for a bit of fun. There may be more parts to this.

Summary:  Boromir is not as dead as he thought he was…

 

 

He was dead.
And then he was not.
He drew a screaming breath, pulling air into lungs
which had previously refused it.
He opened his eyes.
“What. have. you done. to me?”
She was kneeling over him, her hands pressed firmly
against his bare chest.
He felt as though his body were aflame.
He struggled to rise, but the pressure on his chest
was firm, and he could not.
She opened her eyes, turning her head.

She had the greenest eyes he had ever seen.
“I was dead.”
It was not a question.
Her gaze did not waver.
He fell back against the soft grass, his hands
tingling with shock, as he realised the truth of it.
“I was dead,” he repeated quietly. To himself.
When he looked back at her, she had once more turned
away, her eyes closed, her lips moving
silently...slowly, the flames abated.
He lay beneath her touch.
Breathing.
Breathing.
Savouring the sweetness of the air in his lungs.
The first of the Uruk-Hai arrows had shattered his
breast bone. The second had punctured his lung, and
the third had driven the life from him...
but he lived.
He lived yet.
The wonder of it was overwhelming.
“I live,” he whispered, still tasting the coppery
flavour of death on his tongue.
Then conscious deserted him.
And he slept.

“Boromir.”
As if from a mist
“Boromir.”
He pulled himself from the depths of
his unconsciousness.
“Boromir.”
His name once more, and he opened his eyes.
“Who...” he began.
She pressed her fingertip to his parched lips.
“Sssshhhhhhhhhhhh…”
Her mouth was curved into a smile...
without knowing who
or why
he wanted to kiss her.
“Who...” he repeated,
the words burned his throat like liquid metal.
He realised he was no longer outside...
sturdy, roughly hewn walls, charcoal black,
and the weighty beams above them...
He raised his head and looked at himself.
Apart from a sheet,
he was naked
his hands folded over his stomach.
Shifting slightly, he felt himself sink deeper
into the down-filled mattress.
He inhaled deeply,
remembering the bloody froth that had
bubbled from his torn lungs
and he again felt wonder.
His fingers ran themselves over his chest.
The scars were there
one...
two...
three...
The ragged reminders
of his death.
But he lived.

She was silently watching him.
“What happened?” he whispered,
words tearing from his throat like rusty tin.
She smiled once more.
“Who are you?” he asked for a third time.
She approached him slowly,
her ebony hair cascaded like
a midnight waterfall down her shoulders.
Her long fingers reached out
and swept a loose hair from his face.
Her touch shocked him,
she was as warm as Summer
and her words flowed over him like water.
“I am Ember.”

His lips moved silently,
mouthing her name
and her name became a question
to which she smiled in answer.

“Rest now.”
She lifted a goblet to his lips
and he drank
water
cold and startling,
it’s icy fingers aesthetic
to his raw throat.
“Answer me one question,”
he whispered as she removed the cup,
wiping droplets from his beard.
“I was dead.”
She smiled at him again…still…
“That’s not a question.”
He stared at her hard,
his eyes flinty...grey and frustrated
and she sighed.
“Yes. You were dead.”
“What...happened...to me?”
She pulled up a wooden chair
and sat beside him,
her fingers reaching to smooth the hair on his pillow.
Leaning forward, she looked into his eyes
and she began...

“You were floating in the river
amidst the debris of a shattered canoe.
I imagined that you were a foolish adventurer,
one who had ventured too close,
one who had imagined that he could best the waterfall...
but then I looked
and I saw
and your armour gleamed in the sun,
holding you just under the surface,
and the water bled around you
and I realised that you were more.”
“More than what?”
he asked softly.
“More than you seemed.”
He shook his head sadly
remembering...
remembering...
Frodo on the ground...
the desperation
the agony that only the ring would erase...
The red haze of fury
as the hobbit disappeared...
slipped from his grasp...
and fled...
and then the shame...
the shame...
“No,” he shook his head
tears pricking his eyes.
“No. I am far less...
far, far less than you would have me be.”

She leaned forward
“Son of Gondor,”
her lips brushing his ear
her breath warm against his cheek.
“You have committed no crime...
not against the Hobbit...
not against your Comrades...”
He sat up
wrapping his arms around his body
as if protecting himself
against the world.
He allowed the gathering tears
to flow from his eyes
and he shook his head once more.
“I failed...
I failed them...
I shamed my people...”
She stood and reached for him,
her fingers
gently massaging the tense flesh of his shoulders and neck.
“Your only failing was your humanity,
your only weakness,
you love for your people.
You are not evil, Boromir of Gondor.
The Ring is evil...
and now the ring has gone
towards it’s destiny...
and you must face yours.”

He turned towards her and held her gaze, his hand reached and stilled hers.
“And what is that?”
he whispered.
It was a desperate sound...
he was so lost...
desiring to find his place in a world
that still considered him to be dead.
“What is my destiny?”
Again, the smile,
the dimpling of a soft cheek.
Suddenly he was aware of her,
his whole body strained towards her,
his skin hyper-alert
tingling for her touch.
He was aware of the nearness of her,
of the sweetness of her breath,
the floral scent of her hair…
“Me,” she whispered,
her full lips forming careful words,
tinting them with a smile.
“Your Destiny
is me”.

Lifting the goblet to his lips once more
she bade him drink
and he drank deeply, the water like nectar.
A weariness washed over him
and he fell back against the pillows once more.
“You?” he mumbled
as sleep stole upon him,
kissing his closing eyelids with her phantom lips.
“Oh yes,” she answered, as his breathing deepened
“Me.”
...and he slept.

He awoke alone.

 

He raised himself onto his elbows and looked around the room... her room...

With its walls garlanded with flowers,

dried herbs hanging from the rafters, wooden furniture,

and the smell of Spring.

 

Then he heard her.

The silvery sound of Elven tongue wafting on the breeze,

her bell-like voice a siren song echoing through the glade.

 

He rose, and finding none of his clothes,

wound the sheet around his hips and walked barefoot towards the open door.

 

Sunlight streaming through entwined branches illuminated her home.

Green, lush forest lawns dusted with golden daisies

and a chuckling stream running down the hill beside the house into a plunge pool

on the edge of the forest...

 

and it was from here that her song rang

and it was here that he found her,

ebony hair unbound,

draping her naked body as she poured water over her glistening skin.

 

He stood for a moment watching her bathe

feeling like a trespasser in Paradise.

 

He caught her eye and she turned towards him

not startled

not afraid

she smiled in welcome and beckoned to him.

“Join me,” she invited.

“Wash the death from your body, Boroir of Gondor,

feel the water breathe life back into your flesh.”

He stood, unsure of himself,

feeling the springtime sun warm his cold skin.

“Boromir...”she reminded gently

her eyes tugged at him.

Hesitantly, he unwound the sheet

and letting it fall

he stepped into the pool

and felt the water ease its way up his body

until he was submerged in the warmth.

 

Closing his eyes

he lost himself in sensation,

floating,

the tension draining from him,

the feeling of death melting away.

 

His eyes opened at the touch of her.

Hands, small but strong,

feeling their way along his shoulders,

beginning to gently, firmly,

knead the tense flesh,

teasing out the muscles bunched,

spring-like,

under his skin.

 

“What did you mean?” he asked feeling her behind him.

Feeling his body relax.

“What did you mean...you’re my destiny?”

He heard her quiet chuckle behind him.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

He shook his head.

“We’ve met?”

She paused, and answered him.

“Not officially...”

He turned slowly, his grey eyes catching hers.

“Then..?”

 

“I’ve watched you...” she murmured.

“I’ve seen your Father bring you to my forest.

I’ve watched you hunt and engage in sword play.

I’ve watched you grow, Boromir of Gondor

from a gangly youth, so full of wildness and dreams

to the man I see before me...

and I watched you die.”

 

 He flinched at her words

and shied away from the anguish on her face.

 She reached a hand, now atremble,

and touched the three scars on his chest.

“And I couldn’t stop them...

I was too late

and I watched you die.”

 

He covered her hand with his own and she felt his heart beating anew

“So...” he continued gently.

“Where did we meet?”

 

“I was collecting herbs,”

she answered, the pain vanishing from her eyes.

“You burst through the brush, running after your brother...

I remember your voice...

and your laughter...

I remember how alive you were...”

His eyes widened as his mind reached back

and plucked a memory, long forgotten,

from the darkness of unrememberance...

 

“You smiled at me,”

he said, amazed.

“You smiled at me, and you spoke my name...

and you vanished into the forest.”

She said nothing.

Her hand remained on his chest...

his hand remained on hers...

“I searched for you,” he whispered.

“We both searched...

but you were nowhere.

You haunted my dreams...”

 

She reached out a finger

and gently touched his lips

silencing him.

 

“But you forgot...”

she interrupted.

“You returned home...

life continued...

and you forgot.”

He lowered his eyes from hers.

She leaned forward, her lips touching his ear.

 

 “But I remembered...”

 

 

Kevswitchau 2002

 

 

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