A Moment of Clarity
by bailey connie

Email: bailey.connie AT gmail.com

Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas (From Boromir’s POV)

Rating: PG

Fandom(s): LOTR

Warnings: slash m/m, slight voyeurism

Summary: Boromir discovers something to continue to his aiding the Fellowship.

Boromir woke early with the smell of wood smoke teasing his nostrils and the roar of falling water filling his ears. Sitting up, he missed the slide of his heavy fur cloak and remembered throwing it over all four Hobbits sometime during the night. Glancing at his slumbering companions, the Man of Gondor rose and walked away to find a place of privacy.

Slipping on wet leaves, Boromir made his way down to the river and unlaced his leggings. With a deep sigh of relief, he added to the swift-flowing stream, as his eyes automatically scanned the far bank for signs of danger. He was tucking away when he caught movement in his peripheral vision.

Looking up, Boromir scanned the heights for whatever had snagged his attention. At first he saw nothing but the gnarled, wind-tortured trees and the eye-dazzling glitter of mica-salted granite. Then the elusive fluttering motion, like the wing of a wounded bird, flashed at the edge of his vision.

For a bemused moment, Boromir saw a pale banner at the top of the world. A gossamer oriflamme of some unimaginably ancient and noble Elvish dynasty still proudly declaring their dominion. And then it resolved itself into the long tresses of the Prince of Mirkwood floating like silk on the fresh breeze.

Boromir wondered briefly what the Elf might be doing up there above the falls, but assumed it was something ineffable and peculiar to Legolas’ kind. The Steward’s son knew precious little about the folk of the wood, and didn’t care to know more, but the Elf that accompanied them on this journey had captured his interest.

Therefore Boromir climbed up the slope, his approach muffled by the din of Rauros. As he neared the spot where he’d seen the tantalizing glimpse of flowing tresses, he instinctively slowed his step. Without knowing why, the Man wished to see the Elf before the Elf knew he was there.

Pausing behind the last cover before the open expanse of rock, Boromir peered around the trunk of the evergreen. His lupine eyes widened as he beheld the Elf and the Ranger in close embrace. The loving gesture reminded him so much of the last time he’d seen his brother that he had to blink moisture from his eyes. By the time his sight cleared, his companions had separated.

Searching the spot he’d last seen them, Boromir caught a glimpse of Aragorn’s red tunic. Stealthily, the Gondorian slipped around to the right until he could view the Elf and Aragorn from a new vantage. Cautiously raising his head above the boulder he crouched behind, Boromir gazed upon his companions.

Legolas stood at the very brink of the falls, clothed only in sunlight and the Ranger’s arms. Strands of his long, impossibly fine hair, streamed back over the shoulders of Isildur’s Heir, shrouding both in a diaphanous veil. Yet, Boromir could clearly see the passionate way the Man nuzzled the Prince’s nape, and knew then that their regard for one another went beyond brotherly.

A spark of disgust for those that loved their own gender was quickly quenched by the beauty and the very rightness of the scene. Manly though he was, Boromir could not deny that these two belonged to one another, and he could not fault them for it. It was a thing outside the normal realm and therefore immune to such mundane judgments as his.

Boromir shook his shaggy head to rid it of thoughts more suited to Faramir, and turned to go back down to the camp. However, he could not forbear to take one last look at the couple standing at the edge of the world and sky.

Aragorn turned the Elf in his arms and took the sweetly-curved mouth in a deep kiss, his scarred hands sliding down the narrow back to the round buttocks. Boromir felt a tightness in his groin and dropped his eyes, not in loathing, but in shame for sullying such purity with his vulgar, prying gaze. Still, his eyes slid upward once more before he left them alone.

Though the love of one man for another was alien to his nature, Boromir’s heart leapt up at the sight of the Elf and Ranger locked in ardent oblivion. That such love existed in this fading world gave the Steward’s son a new resolve in this fool’s venture they had undertaken.

No longer would he strive only for the restored glory of the White City. From this moment, he fought to preserve the lives of all that lived, and loved, in this Middle Earth. The sun was no warmer than his smile, as he took the downward path back to his other companions.

Boromir was composing a speech to his father, explaining his reasons for continuing on with the Quest when he rounded a fallen statue and came upon Frodo gathering wood.

The End



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