In gardens, beauty is a by-product. The main business is sex and death. ~Sam Llewelyn
Boromir
Being a soldier for my entire life has made me a light sleeper and an early riser. Now, though, I am a soldier at heart only, but an early riser still. When I wake up it is still dark, but I do not feel like staying in bed.
I have been feeling a little restless lately and - if I am honest – a little bored. I will never let anyone know, certainly not Aragorn, but I sometimes miss the excitement of the old days.
Of course I am grateful that there is peace in Middle Earth nowadays and that Gondor is restored to its old glory and splendour. I am grateful in more than one way for our King, my King, my brother and my lover - all that Aragorn is to me. The truth is, though, that there is not so much for me to do these days.
I am the King’s Steward, his advisor and therefore involved in all state matters and I should be glad there are no more battles to be fought. My sword, big, broad and powerful, is still well kept by Galan, my servant, but it stays in the corner of my room most of the time now and as if neglected, it makes me feel guilty when looking at it.
When bathed and dressed I go and sit by the window, eating some fresh bread and cheese, which Galan has brought me. Morning has broken and it looks as if it will be a beautiful day. After a long, cold winter, spring has finally made a start and when I look down into the walled garden below, I can see the fresh green and even some colourful flowers.
I stand up and stretch myself, then head down the stairway to take a closer look at the garden. I stand overlooking it, while I take in the fresh air. I notice the weeds and decide to do something about that, pleased to have found a good excuse to forget about the weekly morning council. I will see Aragorn later; he can manage just fine without me.
I go to the tiny shed and take out the tools I need. It is a little chilly, but I know I will warm up soon enough and I strip down until I am wearing just my white undershirt and my breeches.
I start using the pruning shears, attacking the ivy that has almost conquered the largest part of the wall and enjoy trimming it down. Soon I start sweating and I pull the shirt over my head, not caring if anyone can see me and enjoying the soft burn of the sun on my naked back.
The weed is stubborn and I mercilessly fight it with hoe and trowel, revelling in the way my body feels more alive now, muscles stretching and aching, my hands soiled with Gondor’s earth.
The small stone bench looks so much better when the moss is all scrubbed off and I take a short break before I go down on my knees again to pull more weeds out.
Aragorn
I feel more stifled than ever today by the ornate, velvet and brocade robes of office and the air in the council chamber seems stale and musty.
A shaft of light striking through a high window skewers the pile of dry documents on the oaken table and dust particles dance in the sunshine, while the voice of an ancient council member drones on interminably.
My mind drifts, for I know that after the dark, cold days of winter, spring has burst forth gloriously today and it calls to the Ranger to be outside in the clear air and sunlight, amid the fresh green shoots and burgeoning new life. Beneath the table, my legs shift restlessly, longing for the road.
A discreet cough rouses me from my reverie and I sit up as the councillor concludes his dirge and looks at me expectantly,
“Thank you, Mador, that was most illuminating, however I should like to consider the matter further and discuss it with my Steward, before making a final decision. Now, if I am not mistaken that was the final item and unless there is any other business, we may finish for today.”
I cast my eyes round the table, daring anybody to raise another item and either my stern look is effective, or more likely, everyone else has the same urge as I to escape.
Free at last, I feel like a schoolboy released by the bell and hurry from the chamber in search of another escapee, pausing only to pick up a pitcher of cool cider and some freshly baked pastries, before going outside.
Utilizing my cunning tracking skills, I locate my recalcitrant Steward in our private walled garden and my breath hitches as I slip through the door in time to see him slide from the stone bench onto his knees and attack a bed of weeds.
I stand behind a cherry tree, its branches beginning to burst with pink blossom and enjoy watching him work, unawares. He has stripped off his shirt and my mouth grows dry as I watch the curve of his long back bending and stretching, corded muscles tensing as he lays waste the enemy.
He is sweating as he toils, the sun’s heat captured within the old brick and stone walls, making this area into a sun-trap. Beads of perspiration run down his spine to disappear into the waistband of his breeches. My hungry eyes track the droplets and are drawn to the swell of his taut buttocks beneath the straining cloth.
I cannot stay silent any longer,
“So, this is where the King’s Steward plays truant from his duties in the council chamber. Do the affairs of Gondor mean so little to you, Lord Boromir?”
He turns and I am rewarded by his broadest smile, as he wipes the back of a grimy hand across his brow, smearing earth on his face,
“Truant ? Nay, Sire, for I judged that it would be of more benefit to carry out my duties here outside today, in the good soil of Gondor.”
Boromir
I turn around when I hear the King’s voice chiding me. Well, I do not think he is really chiding me, for there is something in his eyes that tells me he is not and I try to hide my grin when I answer him. I recognise the look on his face, but I am not done yet, so I turn around and start weeding again.
I hear a faint rustle and from the corner of my eye I can see his official robe falling on the ground, quickly followed by more clothing. He kneels down beside me, his torso more tanned, but as naked as mine and I turn my face towards him and smile.
“Strider!”
“If that is what you want me to be.”
“For now, for here, yes.”
He looks at me more closely, eyes piercing mine,
“What is it Boromir, what is amiss?”
“Nothing is, it is just that I am turning into a lazy courtier, with nothing really important to do. It has depressed me a little in the last few days, but I feel better now that I am using my hands again. Not a big battle, but a battle nevertheless.”
Aragorn stills for a while and I lay my dirty hand over his clean one, “Do you not miss it sometimes, Strider, the excitement and the clashing of steel?”
He smiles and shuffles a little closer, “I do. I am still a ranger at heart, and you know that.” His other hand falls on my thigh and strokes it, “I have been watching you for a while, admiring how fierce you looked using that hoe and trowel. I think that in your heart you were really fighting Orcs. Perhaps we should start sword practice together again, just to get back in shape. What do you think? “
“Me fight Anduril? Well, I would like to try it.”
“Not today though, I think you have fought enough battles for one day, my Boromir”, and now his hand travels up my back, sending shivers down my spine.
“I am dirty,” I say, “and very sweaty.”
“Mmmm, yes,” he agrees and leans in to lick the hollow of my throat.
“I am not done yet,” I protest weakly, “let me finish the garden first.”
He scowls at me, then pulls back and grabs a handful of weeds, “Very well then, I will help you; hand me the hoe so I can slay these Orcs.”
For a while we work together, side by side, until he is as sweaty and dirty as I am, making him look more and more like the filthy ranger. I have to admit – if only to myself - my knees are starting to hurt a little and my skin has started to glow from the sun.
“I think we should stop now,” I say, “you look tired.”
Of course I do not fool him and he laughs, but still throws down the hoe, “So what do you suggest we do next?”
“Clean up?” I say, but I am not really serious. A slight breeze has come up and I look at the peaked nipples standing proudly through the coarse hair on his chest. I stretch out my hand and smudge them with good, honest Gondorian soil.
“Later,” he says and his mouth closes over mine.
Aragorn
It feels good to shed the robes of office and when Boromir calls me ‘Strider’, it makes my heart sing and the blood thrum in my veins.
Yet I know that all is not well with him and I look deep into those beguiling green eyes and softly ask what is amiss. He flushes delightfully as he tells me that he has been feeling low of late, a true warrior by training and inclination, robbed of the thrill and glory of battle and turned into an idle courtier. He asks me wistfully whether I do not miss those times myself.
I assure him that I do miss them, for the spirit of the Ranger is still strong in me, just as the spirit of the warrior is strong in him, but I laugh as I recall how my Warrior attacked those enemy weeds, making this garden his battleground. My Boromir need never fear that he will be tamed into a mere courtier and bureaucrat.
We should take time away from affairs of state to practise our sword skills and I tell him so, but in truth, he looks so edible, standing there with his muscles rippling and his body covered by the thin sheen of sweat, that I try and distract him from his warring with the garden Orcs, while he protests that he is dirty and sweaty.
He is indeed deliciously so, and I lean in to taste him, but he resists and insists that he has to finish the garden.
*Always the perfectionist!* I am frustrated, but I declare that I will join him and we will draw weapons together. I seize the hoe and we continue to fight side by side, pausing briefly to take refreshment.
We toil for some time and when he turns to me and suggests that we stop, because ‘I’ look tired, I am not fooled for a moment. I have caught his surreptitious glances and am well aware that we are both truly looking like filthy humans. The flickering of his tongue and licking of his lips is not lost on me and I gladly surrender my hoe and mockingly ask what he wants to do now.
It is late afternoon and a breeze has sprung up, cooling our heated bodies a little, but I still burn for him and when he smears my chest with earth and suggests we clean up, with a gleam in his eyes, I know that is the last thing he really wants.
I capture his mouth and together we sink to the ground, our bodies pressed close and our sweat and dirt mingling. We kick off our boots and as we slide down each others breeches, I murmur,
“It is indeed spring, for see how the stems fill with sap and leap into life.”
“That is true, Strider, and now that we have defeated the weeds, we have to prepare a warm bed for the young seedlings.”
“Not so young, My Warrior, but any bed is warm if you are my bedfellow.”
We roll on Gondor’s good earth and laugh joyously as we join together in celebration of the season, consummating our victory on our vernal battleground.
Summary: Boromir is bored and goes gardening
Rated: R
Categories: LOTR FPS Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 2134 Read: 956
Published: 04 Aug 2009 Updated: 04 Aug 2009