The Gift
‘ It is a gift ’ - Boromir, Lord of the Rings -The fellowship of the Ring
“Naneth, come look!” cried Eldarion, leaning so far out of the casement in his excitement that his nurse squealed in alarm and rushed to take hold of his feet before he took flight. She reeled him in and once he was safely on her lap, she peered out in her turn.
“Oh yes, Your Majesty, do look.”
Putting down her embroidery hoop, Arwen rose and glided over to the window to see the glittering snake of flaming torches winding its way up the levels of the White City. The Harad traders were come from the South, bearing their pungent spices, sweetmeats made of almond paste, bolts of jewel-coloured silks and jangling golden chains and bangles, for the winter solstice was approaching, when gifts were traditionally given and received.
With them had come jugglers, tumblers and acrobats, fire-eaters and sword- swallowers, kohl-eyed dancers with bells round their ankles, musicians and masked mummers. Eldarion wriggled in excitement and twisted to be free. He remembered that the traders brought toys with them – bird-shaped kites with long, feathered tails and spinning tops, which made him dizzy. Most thrilling of all, they brought mechanical toys, animals which mooed and baaed or pawed the ground and dolls, which walked and talked.
“Let Maura tidy you up and wash your face, dear, while I find Ada. Then we shall go to the Great Hall and receive their delegation.”
Eldarion was tucked firmly under Maura’s arm and borne off, protesting, to the bathing chamber, while Arwen went to her husband’s study, nodding to the door guards, who bowed respectfully and moved aside to let her enter.
King Elessar was working on state papers by candle light, his head bowed over the desk, his fingers stained with ink from the quill he was holding, his brow furrowed over some knotty problem and she smiled. He was still beautiful, if a little more lined with the burden of kingship and his black hair was frosted with silver now. He had worked tirelessly to rebuild the City after the defeat of Sauron and the lifting of the shadow and had earned the love of his people. Over the years that had passed, years of peace and prosperity, even the whispers that he was nought but a usurper, too fond of Elvish ways, who had brought this outlandish queen to reign over them, had stilled so that they were now no more than a shiver in the long grass.
She knew that he loved her dearly and their union had been blessed with a son and heir, whom he loved more than life itself. He had their love in return, was surrounded by loyal friends and advisers and life was good, yet deep in his heart there was still a core of sadness for the one he had lost. Arwen’s own heart ached, that she could not mine this vein of sorrow to release it and give her love the peace of mind she wished for him.
Although her approach was silent, as befitting an elf, he raised his head and smiled at her, taking away her breath as always. She held her slender white hand out. He took it and pressed it to his lips.
“Come, Meleth Nīn. There is a Harad trade delegation to meet and anyway, it is high time you left your lair and ranged free again.”
He turned her hand over and pressed another kiss to her palm and then released it so that he could stretch, wincing, as he circled his head to get the crick out of his neck.
“Ow! You are right that I have spent too long bent over these papers, but I would rather range free with you than meet the delegation.”
“Duty before pleasure, My Lord,” she said, putting on a severe expression,” but perchance you should wash your hands before we greet them, lest they think that the King does not deign to meet them and has sent his scribe.”
With a snort, he sprang over the desk and chased her laughing from the room and down the corridor, catching her and imprisoning her against the wall. He kissed her soundly, while the guards, used to their antics, averted their eyes, but smirked beneath their helms.
Half an hour later, later, the Royal family of Gondor, suitably regal and imposing, sat on a dais to receive the visitors, while the walls of the Great Hall were lined with their court.
A tall, imposing, statesmanlike man stepped forward and bowed deeply, assuring the King that his people wished to continue their relationship of peace and mutual trading and would be grateful if their Gondorian allies would permit him to present the gifts they carried. King Elessar greeted them graciously and inclined his head.
The man snapped his fingers and traders swarmed forth with bolts of silk and soft velvet and glittering jewels for Queen Arwen, chocolate animals and coins covered with gold leaf for Prince Eldarion and fine weapons for the King.
These were, however, preliminary offerings and soon, they were waved away and their leader clapped his hands. A very old and bent man shuffled forward, followed by assistants carrying two ornate boxes.
“Please allow me to introduce Master Jabeer, who has crafted these most unique automata for your pleasure and entertainment.”
Master Jabeer folded himself almost in half in a deep obeisance and had to be helped up by one of his assistants. He indicated that the first box should be opened and out flew a beautiful mechanical bird, its plumage shimmering turquoise and green. Amid gasps from the assembly, it circled the hall twice, before coming to perch elegantly on the arm of the Queen’s throne and warbling sweetly, as it cocked its head. Charmed, Arwen laughed, a sound like a cascade of silver bells, while Eldarion clapped his hands in delight and bounced in his seat.
His present was next and the second box was opened to reveal a drummer, almost as tall as Eldarion himself, dressed in the uniform of the Gondorian army and perfect in every detail. Set upon the floor, he bowed once to the Prince and then marched back and forth, playing his drums. Eldarion was thrilled and came down from the dais to march along by his drummer.
The company applauded, but there was a collective holding of breath, for surely the King’s gift must surpass these treasures.
With a flourish and a fanfare of silver trumpets, Master Jabeer had a third and final box wheeled forth. This was a tall box, more like a cabinet big enough for a man to walk into and when the door was opened and the mechanism set in motion, a gasp of astonishment and not a little fear ran round the hall.
The King had risen to his feet, his face pale, his knuckles white, where they grasped the arms of his throne, for out of the box stepped the last Steward’s elder son, Boromir of Gondor, to the life.
The figure was clad in Boromir’s mail, with a wine - coloured surcoat and leathern vambraces engraved with the tree, identical to those taken from Boromir’s cold, dead body by his love on that terrible day at Amon Hen. On his back, he bore Boromir’s round shield and in his right hand, Boromir’s sword, while in his left, he carried the Horn of Gondor. He walked forward and stopped just before the dais, where he raised the great horn to his lips and blew three mighty blasts.
The onlookers cried out in amazement and then in alarm, as the King groaned and slid unconscious to the floor.
In the following chaos, Arwen stood up, her own face even paler than usual, as officials and guards hurried to tend to King Elessar and remove him to his chambers. The nurse picked up a confused and tearful Eldarion and hurried him away
The Queen thanked the Haradrim formally for their gifts and waved away their stammered apologies and explanations that they had only wanted to honour the dead warrior, one whom they knew that the King held in high esteem.
“We acknowledge the skills of Master Jabeer and we thank you for the gifts and marvel at them. The figure of Lord Boromir is indeed so lifelike that it caused no little shock to the King, as you saw. Now please go to the dining tables, where you will be served with the finest foods and wines that Gondor can offer. Our household will arrange accommodation and I am sure that the King will meet with you again tomorrow.”
When they had dispersed, she left the hall and ran to Elessar’s private chambers, to find him seated in a chair in front of the fire, gazing into the flames, a goblet of spiced wine grasped in his hands. The Senior Healer was in attendance, but she told him that she felt his ministrations would not be needed. Instead, she asked him to go and fetch Eldarion.
Arwen knelt at her Lord’s feet, her hands covering his, cradled around the goblet and spoke to him softly until he raised his gaunt and haunted face to hers.
“It was so…..like…it was…”
“Hush, Meleth Nīn, I know, I know.”
The door opened and Eldarion tumbled in, his face streaked with tears. He launched himself at his father, who hastily put down the goblet in the hearth, climbed upon his lap and buried his head in the broad chest.
“Ada, you scared me. Are you well?”
Elessar stroked his son’s hair and spoke soothingly,
“Yes, son, all is well.”
“But you fell down. It was that figure of Lord Boromir, just like his statue in the square, by the white tree, was it not?”
“Yes, you see that Master Jabeer is very clever and his machine was so very, very lifelike that it gave me a shock. Lord Boromir was very dear to me and although the statue is very like him, marble does not walk, or appear to breathe.”
“But we can keep the presents, Ada, can’t we? I can keep my drummer?”
“Of course and your Naneth shall keep her bird.”
“What about Lord Boromir? I want Lord Faramir to see him, when he visits. We can warn him, Ada, so it will not be a shock.”
Elessar shook his head, unable to answer, but Arwen drew her son into her arms and kissed his forehead,
“Time for bed, Eldarion. You have had enough excitement for one day and your drummer shall stay in your room and watch over you, while you sleep.”
She handed him back into the care of his nurse and dismissed the other attendants, closing the door behind them.
“So what will become of this Boromir? We cannot return the gift without insulting our allies and maybe our son is right and Faramir should see it. But if it distresses you, it can be kept locked up and you need never look upon it again.”
The whisper was so soft that only sharp elf ears could have caught it,
“But I want to look upon him again, no matter what pain it causes.”
“Then I shall have your gift brought here and like Eldarion, you shall have someone to watch, while you sleep. Now let me help you into bed, My Lord, for you still look pale. Would it please you to have a light supper brought on a tray?”
“Thank you, no, My Love, I am not hungry, but you are right that I am suddenly weary and need to rest.”
“Would it please you to have my company?”
“Please stay, until I fall asleep.” So Arwen helped Elessar to shed his clothes and get into bed and she sat by him, stroking his brow and singing Elven lullabies until he slept.
Elessar woke with a start from a nightmare filled with the smell of blood and the foul stench of Uruk-hai, the clash of weapons and screams of the Halflings as they were borne away by the vile beasts and above all the familiar, pervading sense of failure, grief and loss.
He was reaching to the bedside table for the flask of water he had by him when he slept, wishing that he had asked Arwen to share his bed this night, when his hand stilled. In the corner of the room, lit by a beam of moonlight through the open casement, stood Boromir, his lost love.
His heart almost stopped for a beat, but he recalled the mechanical figure and knew that Arwen had indeed caused it to be brought here, while he slept. The resemblance really was uncanny. There was Boromir’s strong face, the noble nose, the prominent cheekbones and the stubborn set of the jaw. How he had silently cursed that stubbornness in the man and how he longed to have him back to argue with and be frustrated by. There too were Boromir’s emerald eyes, although they lacked the light and fire of the true Boromir and stared ahead, unseeing.
The hair moved in the gentle breeze from the open window, for the Ranger, although he had become used to sleeping inside and in a bed, could never endure sleeping in a stuffy room. He found himself wondering what it would feel like to touch the flesh, which appeared so very real, and run his fingers through that fine hair. He felt compelled to feel the rougher hair of Boromir’s beard.
Almost in a trance, he found himself leaving the bed and pulling on his velvet robe. He crossed the floor and stood in the pool of moonlight in front of the figure, his fingers reaching out and tentatively touching the folds of the garments. Emboldened, he exploratively stroked the hand, which gripped the sword and exclaimed in wonder, for whatever materials had been used felt so very like skin and it was even warm to his touch.
He reached up to that much-loved face and brushed his hand down, tracing the path of moonlight until it reached the shadow of the beard, which he rubbed. Why, if he closed his eyes, he could almost believe that he caught the scent of Boromir. In fact it was almost as if…..
“Why do you doubt, Ranger? Do you think that your eyes deceive you?”
Elessar opened his eyes and found himself looking into those of the Boromir he had known. No longer was this a blind and dumb automaton, but the very living and breathing warrior of his memory. He scarcely dared to believe it,
“Boromir? Is that truly you?”
He flung his arms round his lover and the deep chuckle that rumbled in Boromir’s chest left him in no further doubt. He wept with joy, as Boromir dropped sword and horn so that he could return the embrace.
They kissed with the hunger of long years apart, separated just as their fledgling love had begun and inexorably moved towards the bed, when the chuckle rumbled again,
“Aragorn, my love, I think I need to take off my shield before we continue.”
Then he also laughed and went to pour wine for them both, as Boromir divested himself of his shield and outer clothes, returning to the bed in shirt and breeches. Boromir shook his head at the proffered goblet of wine, but still shocked, Elessar himself drank deeply, before he drew Boromir down beside him and slowly stripped him of his remaining clothes.
Not knowing whether he was drunk from the wine of from Boromir, not knowing or caring what witchcraft had wrought this miracle, he gave over his senses to the smell of Boromir, the feel of Boromir, the little sounds of Boromir and soon the taste of Boromir. He exulted in the fierce kisses, in the hard, muscular body, which wrapped around him, in the big, sensitive hands upon his heated flesh and finally in the joining of their bodies in mutual passion, again and again.
Waking again in the grey light of dawn, Elessar reached instinctively for Boromir, but found himself alone in the huge bed. He sat up and looked across the room, where the figure of Boromir stood, silent and lifeless, still fully clothed, still holding sword and horn, the shield still strapped to its back. His elation of the previous night turned to ashes in his mouth. It had surely been too vivid for a dream and he could feel Boromir’s presence in his body, see the bruises made by eager fingers on his hips and smell Boromir on the sheets and pillows and on his skin.
He shook his head as if to clear it and reluctantly pulled the bell rope to summon his servants and have a bath drawn. While he bathed, Arwen entered the bathing room to ask him how he had slept. Never able to deceive her for a moment, he confessed to her what had happened in the night. She did not doubt him, for in her long life she had experienced many strange things and she sought to reassure him. When he rose and dressed, he found that the bed had been changed, so there was no trace of Boromir left, apart from the welcome ache in his body.
Elessar and Arwen stood by the false Boromir and she tripped the mechanism. The figure moved forward, blew the horn thrice and then stood still again. They collected Eldarion and breakfasted together, but Arwen knew that her husband was troubled. She had hoped that what had happened in the night, however it had come to pass, might have comforted him, but it seemed that it was not so.
In the coming days, Arwen knew that Elessar was visited regularly by the spectre of Boromir. He did not speak of it to her, but he stopped asking her to share his bed and in the mornings, he was invariably hollow-eyed and exhausted. In truth, he had become obsessed by the visits and had found himself unable to sleep on the nights when the mechanical Boromir remained still and lifeless.
On the nights when he had been rewarded by a visit, Boromir had become increasingly rough and demanding and their lovemaking more and more desperate, so that he would slip into a short and fretful sleep, when it was over, waking unrefreshed to another day of council meetings and decisions. Elessar was losing weight, often impatient and tetchy, even with Eldarion, and Arwen began to fear for his health.
Faramir and Eowyn had been summoned to see the amazing automaton, but both of them had shuddered and found it sinister and unsettling. They were concerned for the King, who had become so thin and seemed to burn with a fever, so they tried to get to the bottom of his illness. Arwen was unable to tell them the true nature of what ailed him, for she would not break his confidence, but Faramir, always astute, deduced that it had something to do with the figure.
“Arwen, you must get rid of that thing, that travesty of my brother. I do not like the effect it is having on the King. It should not be in his chamber. It seems to be sucking the energy, the very soul from him.”
Arwen agreed and after they had left to return to Ithilien, she had the figure removed from Elessar’s chamber. When he found out, he flew into a rage such as she had never seen before and she feared for a moment that he would strike her. Straight away he was filled with remorse and she saw a shadow of his former self,
“Forgive me, Meleth Nīn, for I am not myself. I must have that figure in my room, for only then does the spirit visit me. I need to have Boromir come to me.”
“I am sorry, My Lord, but I fear for you. These visits are not making you happy; on the contrary, they seem to be making you ill. I do not believe that this spirit, which visits you, is truly Boromir, for he would wish you no harm.”
Arwen sat brooding in her chamber, as she sorted embroidery silks and smiled as Eldarion ran in and hugged her,
“Naneth, why is Ada so sad? Does his gift not make him happy? Mine makes me very happy.”
“No, my son, I fear that the gift has brought only sadness to your Ada, yet he must keep it.”
“Don’t be sad. Maybe it will break.”
Arwen hugged him, but thought silently *Would that it should break before he does.*
She went for a walk in the gathering dusk of the winter afternoon, into the square by the white tree and looked up at the marble Boromir, who looked back down at her. Before the arrival of the mechanical figure, Elessar had often come here to sit quietly, dismissing the guards. Sometimes he would smoke a contemplative pipe, sometimes he would talk to his lost love, and sometimes he would just be still with his memories. Arwen felt that if the true spirit of Boromir were anywhere, it would be here.
She silently asked him what she should do to protect Elessar and waited for a sign. Since the return of the King, the white tree bloomed in winter and summer alike, so it was full of blossom now. As she stood there, a single bloom fluttered down and when she stooped to pick it up, she saw that it alone was blood red. Tucking it into her bodice, she walked quickly back to the Palace.
That night, concealed behind a tapestry in Elessar’s chamber, Arwen witnessed for the first time the coming to life of mechanical Boromir. She saw
how Elessar waited fearfully for the manifestation, cringing, when it finally happened, heard the throaty chuckle as the spirit moved towards the bed, casting off his clothes.
“What is the matter, Aragorn? Is this not what you wanted all these years? Do not tell me you have tired of me already.”
“You are not really Boromir. I know that now, although I cannot resist you. Can you not leave me be?”
Naked now, the figure threw back his head and laughed mockingly,
“Have you never heard the saying that you should take care what you wish for? All these years you have not been satisfied with your crown, with your beautiful wife and your son. Their love was not enough for you. You craved the love of a dead man. You should have grieved and moved on.”
The false Boromir, tore back the sheets and Arwen watched as the pair embraced, but she saw no tenderness in the way that Boromir handled Elessar’s body, rather savagery in the way he used him roughly, biting him and thrusting into him hard, without preparation. Her face set grimly and she saw her path clearly as the couple writhed on the bed, Elessar crying out in pain, rather than ecstasy.
When Boromir rose and looked contemptuously at Elessar’s body, lying limp and spent on the bed, his breathing ragged and laboured, she waited until he had dressed and resumed his pose by the window.
“Until next time, My Love,” were the last words spoken mockingly, before the figure resumed its stance, but no sooner were they spoken, than Arwen flew from her hiding place and taking the spirit off guard, pushed the figure through the open window, to crash onto the unforgiving flagstones of the courtyard below.
She looked out and saw the automaton smashed to pieces, as lights appeared in various windows and she was sure that as it fell, she had heard an angry and despairing cry.
Arms came round her from behind and warm breath tickled her ear as her neck was nuzzled.
“Thank you.”
She turned in Elessar’s arms, “‘Tis enough thanks to have you back and know that your memories of the true Boromir will prevail and not this malign spirit. Now quickly, put on your robe.”
She hurried to the door to respond to the insistent knocking of the guards, opening it a little,
“All is well. The King was sleepwalking and bumped into the figurine, knocking it out of the window. I fear that it is broken beyond repair.”
Elessar slept peacefully in her arms and woke refreshed in the morning, quite restored to his normal self. Arwen was taking no chances with the automaton and had the guards build it a funeral pyre. It was soon reduced to a heap of ashes and tangled metal, which she sent to be buried far away.
Arwen visited Boromir’s statue again and thanked him for his help. Across the square, Elessar was swinging Eldarion up onto his shoulders and their laughter echoed against the ancient white stones. She could have sworn that she heard a faint chuckle on the breeze and that the statue winked at her, but it might have been the echo and a trick of the light.
Summary: Aragorn receives a gift.
Rated: NC-17
Categories: LOTR FPS Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir/Arwen
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 4211 Read: 879
Published: 27 Dec 2009 Updated: 27 Dec 2009