When he first arrived in Rivendell, Aragorn shared his Mother's bed. It was a thing of beauty, covered with delicately carved knotwork, the same that adorned most of Rivendell, with a deep mattress covered in soft, downy quilts.
Aragorn's mother would read to him each night as they snuggled into his warm bed. She told him tales of Elves, and Men and Dwarves, and funny little things called hobbits. As he got a little older, after she had fallen asleep, he would sometimes lie awake for hours, his fingers lacing in and out of the knotwork at the foot of the bed. He would look out at the moon, and think of his father who had died when he was two. He had no clear memories of him, and often wondered who he had been, as no-one ever spoke of him.
Although he grew with the grace and manner of the elves, it was a little hard for a human child to fit into the tranquil life of Rivendell. Some of his favourite times were when he could spend afternoons with his mother in the woods around Rivendell, running and laughing and letting out the more boisterous side of his nature, his human side. And he did try to stay clean, but found it almost impossible. Elves never seemed to get dirty, even when they had been out in the woods all day, whereas Aragorn would always be whisked off for a bath on his return from playing before he could trail mud through the palace.
Years later, with his destiny and lineage finally revealed to him, it was time for him to leave Rivendell to rejoin the world of men. The day he left, he stood at the foot of his bed, fingers unconsciously tracing familiar patterns in the wood, and stared out of the window. He would miss his home but knew that his travels would bring him here again and wherever he went, he carried with him all he had learned in the house of Elrond, lessons that would serve him well all his life.
Aragorn spent a large part of his adult life sleeping on whatever patch of ground was available, soft or not. Each time his travels turned him towards Rivendell, he would look forward to the peace and quiet he always associated with his childhood home, and to a soft bed. One afternoon, having taken some time to be by himself, he was sitting reading in Elrond's library, when he looked upon the golden son of Gondor for the first time, and found it hard to breathe.
Days later, when Boromir had come to an uneasy acceptance of who Aragorn was, Aragorn touched Boromir's face for the first time. He heard his breath catch at his touch, felt strong fingers move through his hair, and was overtaken by desire. Roughly, he tasted Boromir's mouth, and was met with equal force, equal need. Aragorn gave himself to Boromir, and Boromir took him. After, there was time enough for tenderness, to lie together in peace, and talk of hopes and dreams, as they did often in the months before the fellowship departed Rivendell.
But when he thought of Boromir in the years that came after, it was not their time in Rivendell that came to mind, but rather the days out of time they had spent in Lothlorien. As what remained of the fellowship recovered their strength, Aragorn found his in Boromir's arms. Lying on soft moss, sounds of need and desire echoing around the glade they had made their own, safe in Lothlorien they found solace in one another.
a33; Lothlorien, where Galadriels magic gave them a final chance to be together, before harsh words on the Anduin drove fatal distance between them.
As the Uruk Hai finally fell to the ground, Aragorn ran to Boromir. His first instinct was to remove the arrows, stop the blood flowing, heal his wounds. Heal him. When Boromir stopped him, he knew it was over. The shining light in his life would dim, and there was nothing he could do but hold him while he died. That day he made promises he would never break. Some spoken, some left unsaid.
As he prepared Boromir's body to be given to the river, he softly sang an Elven lament, the words catching in his throat. He longed for strong arms to hold him, just once more, remembered the emerald blaze of his eyes, and as he watched the boat slip away, imagined he felt soft lips on his one last time.
He stood in the banks of the Anduin, and gathered his strength. The time had come for him to fulfil his promises. His heart heavy with purpose, he led the tattered remnants of the fellowship away from the river and towards destiny.
Arwen knew that her husband missed Boromir. Even years after he became king, she would occasionally find him sitting in the gardens deep in thought, a sad smile on his face as he remembered his lover. She would sit with him for a while, her hand on his arm offering a little comfort, then leave him to his memories. For this, he loved her all the more.
And when the time came, and he laid himself to rest on cold stone, he knew that in leaving one love, he would be reunited with another, finally fulfilling his final promise. Arwen held his hand until it was cold, until she knew all life had left him, and his hand had been taken by his golden Gondorian, who would be at his side through all the ages of the world.
A tear fell, and she left her one true love's resting place to begin her own journey without him. She felt hope in her heart that she would meet him again, meet them again, when her time came, when she chose to lie down in the grass and leave this world behind.
Summary: Beds that Aragorn has known. (A companion piece to "Boromir's Bed".)
Rated: PG-13
Categories: LOTR FPS Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 993 Read: 818
Published: 16 Aug 2009 Updated: 16 Aug 2009