Boromir had paced the meadow in moon-light, oft-times in the latter days when the child within, his aching back and pressing bladder, would not let him sleep easy. The women had viewed his swollen belly and told him that he bore a son. Boromir was less certain, but as his time drew near, the idea of a child, a soul that was separate from him and yet part of him too, seemed more and more a troubling dream that he could not see his way through.
And soon it would be upon him, a weight upon his heart possibly heavier than anything he could imagine, his love made flesh before him, so now he sought to give his dread beloved a shape by naming it, naming the child...and that also meant imagining their lives beyond the confines of this place.
He had walked the green that murmured at his passing, and barely whispered his love’s name, and his father’s, Arathorn, and back as far as he could remember of the line of Kings. He had toyed for a few moments with naming the child in remembrance of his brother, but to do either would be to lay claim to a heritage that would mark the child out wherever he went.
The Beorning said that Sauron and his minions were defeated, that the King lived, that he had wed the elf-maiden and was bringing the Two Kingdoms together for a new age. Boromir was glad, humbly grateful for Gondor and her people that her champion had triumphed, had won through as he could not. Gondor had no need of a failed warrior made an uncanny thing now. He would not cloud the newly-crowned day with something of the dark times, a reminder of defeat, of betrayal, and yet he had been gifted this burden.
Perhaps it was their fate, his and the child’s, to wander through this new realm, letting the Ranger’s blood roam unmarked amidst his people as once before? So Boromir tried to think of a name that would allow them to pass unnoticed, to recall all the good men that he had ever known, soldiers, blacksmiths, clerks and grooms with plain names that did not carry echoes beyond their family histories. And yet, he could not quite rid himself of wanting to acknowledge the love that had created this child beneath his heart and so he had tried to make something of their two names, but had become entangled in too many memories simply by saying his love’s name aloud and ended sitting, weeping, on the ground. He had slept then, exhausted and the women who found him in the morning had wondered that the dew had not touched him, but left him dry and warm in a nest of bent grasses.
Boromir had abandoned the unequal struggle, for there were perhaps more pressing matters to be settled and he would be forever grateful for the simple kindness of the Beorning. If he died in childbirth, as seemed likely, the babe would stay with them and when he was old enough to be a page Grimbeorn would send to the Prince of Ithilien to ask him to take a foundling child into his service. Boromir knew his brother’s good heart, knew that he would not refuse and as he drifted towards sleep that night, decided he would trust to the babe to tell him its name...it might be a girl....perhaps, Arenel...that sounded gentle.
Summary: Boromir has a decision to make that carries their futures along with it. CP AU prequel
Rated: G
Categories: LOTR FPS Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 581 Read: 782
Published: 29 Jan 2013 Updated: 29 Jan 2013
Story Notes:
DISCLAIMER: "These characters originate with their copyright holders. I borrow them for entertainment, not profit."