The dusk had fallen quickly and already Boromir could see, in the light of their torches, the tiled roofs beginning to glitter with the first kiss of frosted air. A short while yet and it would reach the ground, making the way treacherous. The bay’s shod hooves clattered on the pavement as Boromir urged him up the steep road.
At the sixth level gate, the guard came smartly to attention as the Steward’s party passed through. Boromir heard behind him, the sergeant give the order for the bulk of the patrol to peel off and head towards their stabling, whilst he and his grooms carried on. It had been a weary way homewards these past few days, travelling as fast as they might safely do through a land in the grip of a cold snap and Boromir had been glad to feel Cedar begin to pull at the reins in anticipation of his stall as they approached the city walls.
The long street was deserted, the air still, and Boromir found himself counting the doorways that led towards home. The Houses of Healing lay dark and quiet, but there were lanterns hanging on each side of a small gate and lighting up a bell pull that if rung would bring someone to the door at any hour.
It was as they passed the gate that up ahead he heard the belling bark of a great hound. Rullo had sensed their approach, knew their mounts amidst all those who passed that way and even now the servants would be hastening to have the way into the stable yard open for their master’s return.
It had been some time before Boromir had been able to feel quite at ease returned to his city that was so changed, but now he realised that the tightness in his chest, even to the warmth in the pit of his stomach overcoming the chill of his feet after so many hours of riding, was the pull of a home that held his son and his Captain, a place inhabited by folk he loved and that loved him.
There were figures ahead standing in the roadway, lanterns held aloft to light their way, as Boromir led the party into the yard and as he dismounted and handed his reins to a groom, behind him he heard the sound of the gates being shut and barred.
He knew by the face of the lad who took his horse and refused to meet his eye, that something was amiss. Stablemen had come to the aid of his grooms and the baggage horse, but not a word was exchanged and Boromir thought he saw one man shake his head at an old comrade he would normally have greeted warmly. Setting his jaw, Boromir began to pull off his gauntlets as he strode across the yard towards the open door where the house steward was standing, a lantern in hand and Rullo at his side.
“Well?” Boromir said and then was startled to see behind the man the figure of the Queen, a dark cloak wrapped around her, standing in the corridor. Not waiting for a reply, Boromir brushed past him and had almost reached her when Arwen turned on her heel and led him towards the Library.
By the time that they had entered the room and Boromir had closed the door, his heart had begun to thud painfully in his chest.
“Madam,” he began, and then could not stay the thought but said urgently, “Where is the King?”
“He is upstairs with Arin,” Arwen replied and seeing her standing so still before him, a vice tightened about Boromir’s throat.
“The boy,” he said hoarsely.
“There was an accident and Arin has a cut on his head,” Arwen said carefully and her clear eyes were so keen, that Boromir thought he could not tear his gaze from hers.
“It is a small cut which the Healers have cared for and he will likely have a black eye too, but there is no lasting hurt.”
At last Boromir let out the breath that he was holding in, laughed, then shook his head and smiled wryly at her,
“When I think of all the times Faramir and I returned scraped and bloody from some mis-adventure, it is a wonder that the lad hasn’t come by more bumps and bruises before now.”
He sighed again and leant back against the library door.
“What was he doing?” he asked.
“It was not really what Arin was doing,” Arwen said quietly and Boromir suddenly saw that she still held herself apart from his sense of relief.
“Then how did he come by the wound?” he asked again.
“The King hit him,” Arwen replied and for a moment Boromir thought that if it were not for the door at his back, he might have fallen.
He held her gaze and suddenly realised that there was a shimmer come into her eyes and that she was beginning to tremble.
“Ma’am,” he gasped and sprang forward to take her arm and lead her to a chair.
Arwen’s hand was cold when he laid his hand on hers and gripped so tightly at his sleeve that he had almost to prize away her grasp.
“It was an accident,” she said earnestly.
“I’m sure, ma’am,” he said gruffly,
“He loves Arin,” she said and then looked down and absently plucked at her skirt to smooth out a wrinkle.
“Did the lad get too close to one of the horses?” Boromir asked her.
“No, no,” Arwen replied and Boromir thought that she looked almost bewildered. “The King was dancing.”
“Dancing?”
“We were having a picnic in the little tower garden and I was telling the children about the way that mallorn seeds spin around and around on their wings and fly across the earth and the King started to dance.”
“He started to dance.”
“Yes, spinning around and around and the children were laughing and he was going faster and faster, his arms flung out,” and she spread her arms wide, “and then he tripped over a rug and fell and his fist caught Arin as he fell. The ring cut Arin’s head.”
“But it was not a bad cut...”
“There was a lot of blood,” Arwen said quietly.
“Head wounds always bleed...”
“Always,” she said and seemed with a small shake to come to herself, looking Boromir square in the face and saying, “he loves Arin very much. He was, he is, so sorry.”
Boromir smiled warmly.
“I know, ma’am,” he said, “and with your permission I’ll go now to see the boy.”
Rullo must have known his tread because he could hear a soft whine coming from Arin’s room even before he reached the top landing. When he opened the door, the big dog was lying at the foot of Arin’s bed.
The boy was sleeping, a still mound beneath the bedcovers. A lamp burned on the wall beside the bed and for a moment, Boromir could not see anyone else by the small pool of golden light it threw off. Then as his eyes grew used to the gloaming, he saw a figure hunched on a stool in the corner.
As he went forward, Aragorn surged to his feet and came towards him and Boromir was taken aback by his love’s drawn face.
Forbearing to allow Aragorn time to say aught, Boromir opened his arms, gathered him in and hugged him tightly. He could feel damp skin against his neck and adjudged that it was surely fright, the joyful moment torn apart by the blood of a child, that had shaken his love so...and then, he thought, Aragorn had had no part of Arin’s life of trial before they had met, Father and son, at the mill. He wondered if Eldarion had ever tumbled over.
Aragorn lifted his head from Boromir’s shoulder and said hoarsely, “I am sorry, love...this was all my fault, my folly...””
All the while Boromir had been walking them closer to the sleeping child and now he could see the narrow bandage that had been wrapped around Arin’s head. Their son looked peaceful, albeit there was a smudge of dried blood beside his ear.
“Celond says that there is no lasting hurt and,” Aragorn gave what was almost a strangled laugh, “Arin is hoping that there might be a scar.”
“Hmph!” Boromir chortled, “something to boast of to his school-friends, no doubt.”
“No, Boromir,” Aragorn said quietly, “I said he was brave and he said his Adar was brave.”
Boromir gripped his love by the shoulders and looked Aragorn squarely in the face.
“When Arin was a baby, I dropped him in a river,” he said and silently rejoiced at the startled look in his King’s eyes.
“The Beorning had made me a sort of sling to carry him and I thought that I could cross some stones with all our gear in one instead of making a second trip. I was half-way and my bow began to come loose, I stooped to grab at it and he just fell out of the sling and into the water. He was asleep and the water was cold and he yelled and yelled and was very angry with me for the rest of the day.”
The wry smile of understanding and forgiveness that the men shared then was, Boromir thought, a sweeter gift than any he had received for many a day.
He had sent King and Queen back to the palace with assurances that he and Arin would visit in the morning before Arin went to school, because Boromir was minded to take Celond at his word.
As he took his last look at the child, sleeping soundly, the great dog, his head laid on his paws, with a weather eye to any who might come, Boromir saw something on the floor beside Aragorn’s stool.
It was one of his long clay pipes. The bowl clean, it had never been used, but Boromir could see that there were tooth-marks on the stem, where Aragorn must have chewed on it as he sat and watched over the boy.
We will all three of us remember this day, thought Boromir, for the small hurts and the small triumphs, all of them over-taken by love surely make us whole.”
Summary: Boromir realizes that he should confess
Rated: G
Categories: LOTR FPS Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 1741 Read: 1201
Published: 01 Mar 2012 Updated: 01 Mar 2012
Story Notes:
DISCLAIMER: "These characters originate with their copyright holders. I borrow them for entertainment, not profit."