Rain Storm, part 2
Title: Rain Storm 2
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Boromir
Rating: varies (this chapter PG)
Summary: Frodo and Boromir meet in Rivendell and find one another to be intriguing companions.
Disclaimer: Don’t own anything. Don’t make any money off it.
Chapter 1
Frodo entered his room, still smiling, his cheeks still hot. Leaning against the door, he caressed the spot on his brow that tingled from Boromir’s farewell kiss.
Upon taking his leave from Elrond’s library, Frodo had bid Boromir a cheery but casual farewell, but Boromir had been far more somber.
“It has been a great honor to speak with you at such length.” He had placed his broad hands on Frodo’s shoulders and stooped to kiss his brow. His mustache had tickled, and Frodo had swallowed a foolish giggle. “I hope I shall have the pleasure of your company again soon.” Boromir then bowed and strode away.
“So…where have you been?”
Frodo startled. He had failed to notice that his cousins were in his room, both smoking pipes in the terrace just outside the arched doorway. Pippin’s expression looked particularly accusing. “We held tea for two hours.”
Frodo gazed beyond them, watching the mist dance over the trees. Daylight had begun its swift waning, leaving the sky violet, sprinkled with faint stars, and leaving tree limbs shimmering silver under the moonlight. Frodo’s heart fluttered. Why, he had been in the library for far longer than he had intended. He recalled telling his cousins that he would be back before tea. Now it was already nearing the supper hour.
“Oh…” He smiled, still somewhat dazed. “I am sorry.”
He touched his brow again. Whenever Boromir laughed -- full, rich, and rumbling -- a gentle crease surrounded his sea gray eyes. There was a slight gap between two of his teeth, and sometimes when he paused, slightly uncertain, his tongue fidgeted in it. Frodo doubted he was fully aware that he did it.
“What did you find to read?” Merry asked, releasing a smoky breath. The familiar pipe-weed scent made Frodo long to dig his own pipe out of his traveling pack, but he refrained. He needed to rest. He was not fully recovered, and weariness pressed on him.
“Pardon?”
“You were in the library,” Merry continued. “What did you read?”
“Read…” Frodo simply could not remember the title of the book he had opened but had never read. He did, however, remember Boromir’s powerful shoulders as he reached up to snag the book from so high on the shelf-
“Well, something’s happened,” Merry said in exasperation, pointing to him with his pipe. “That was a whimsical smile just then. Did you see that, Pippin?”
Frodo laughed and looked away, unbuttoning his vest and thumbing his braces off his shoulders. He lay on his bed, stretching his legs and curling and uncurling his hairy toes. “Whatever do you mean?”
“What in the world is the matter with you?” Merry demanded.
“Perhaps,” Pippin said mysteriously. “He ran into Elrond’s fair daughter. That would surely explain why he can’t remember what he was reading.”
Frodo closed his eyes, hoping his blush was not obvious in the growing twilight. He considered for a moment. He surely did not feel for Boromir as a lad might for a lass - did he? His heart had fluttered when Boromir had clasped his shoulders. But he found he was fascinated rather than horrified by the possibility.
Another possibility drifted through his mind, of Boromir gripping his shoulders with forceful hands and shoving him against a wall in a quiet passage, breathing hard with need. He would drop to one knee and crush his lips with the strength befitting of a warrior--
“Be wary, Frodo,” Merry said, blowing a smoke ring in his direction. “Strider’s got a sharp sword - even if it is broken.”
“Oh, hush, the both of you,” Frodo said, covering his eyes with his arm. “Did you leave any cakes for me?”
Pippin shrugged in mock regret. “There aren’t even crumbs left, but you can’t blame us. The cakes come from Elrond’s kitchen, and they far surpass any from even the best bakeries in the Shire.”
“Ah, well,” Frodo said, curling onto his side and burying his head in the down pillow. “In just a few hours there shall be another feast and I shall more than make up for the lack. Now let me rest.”
The ringing of many bells signaled the beginning of the feast in the hall of Elrond’s house. This was not a feast in Frodo’s honor, such as the one on the first day after his recovery. That had been a formal affair, at which the guests had sat around the table. Instead, a long table had been pushed against the wall and it had been filled with every imaginable food - from rich, plump fruits to bread so soft and buttery that it promised to melt in the mouth.
So much food, more food than any one hobbit could ever dream to eat at one sitting -- it was like a dream come true, after weeks in the wilderness. Frodo filled his plate with unabashed eagerness. The plate, he was dismayed to discover, was tiny and delicate - barely large enough to hold enough food for a baby, in Frodo’s humble opinion. But he could always go back for more.
“One might wonder what you’ve done all day to have worked up such a hearty appetite.”
Frodo turned in pleasant surprise, and his heart turned pleasantly. He had harbored the faint hope that he might see Boromir this evening. Boromir stood beside him, smiling. Frodo’s head barely reached just below his shoulder, but he was just nose level with the plate of food that Boromir carried.
“Oh, it was nothing, really,” Frodo said, smiling. “Just delightful and interesting conversation with a charming fellow from Gondor. I am glad to see you here.” He glanced at Boromir’s surprisingly empty plate. “Is that all you’re eating?”
“Oh, I do not like to sleep on a full belly.”
Frodo snorted. “Why, that’s the best way to go to sleep, your belly so full that you can scarcely move.”
Boromir patted his stomach with his free hand and groaned. “Nay. This food of the Elves, while remarkable, is far richer than anything I have been accustomed to.”
“Well,” Frodo said with a wink. “I’m sure you should suffer greatly if ever you had the opportunity to visit The Shire. I cannot believe that is all you will eat. But you can always change your mind. There’s plenty to eat. Will you join me…again? That is…” Frodo felt suddenly shy under Boromir’s keen gaze. “That is, if you do not have elsewhere you must be.”
Boromir nodded, visibly relieved. “Thank you…Frodo.” He looked at Frodo, his eyes clouding with uncertainty. “Frodo, is it not?”
“Yes,” Frodo’s heart lifted. It was a small thing, really, for Boromir to have remembered his name, but it warmed his heart all the same. He tugged Boromir’s sleeve. “Come…there are so many places where we can eat and enjoy the music in peace.” He led Boromir away, through a wide passage and through several other doors until they came into a new hall. A bright fire burned in a hearth between carved pillars. Elvish minstrels played music.
“Have you been here yet?” Frodo asked, under his breath.
“No,” Boromir said, entranced.
“This is the Hall of Fire,” Frodo said. “I came here the first night…after I woke.”
Frodo and Boromir settled on the floor and began to eat in silence. The huge fire gave off a golden, flickering light that roused Frodo’s heart.
The music wove in and out of their consciousness. Sometimes it danced with merriment, like carefree flaxen sun over a field of bright wildflowers, while other times it sank into melancholy, like moon reflected on ice, but always beautiful, always it tugged at the heart.
Mostly Frodo listened to Boromir speak of this and that. It was difficult to reign in his natural hobbity inclination to chatter incessantly, but he bit his tongue because he wanted so to learn everything about Boromir and the land from whence he came. So long had Minas Tirith lived under the shadow of Mordor.
To Mordor we will take you…
A painful chill settled into his shoulder, and he shivered. The music in the hall faltered, stuttered, and then went on.
“Are you well?” Boromir asked, jarring Frodo out of his dreamy thoughts.
“Oh…” Frodo looked up in embarrassment, rubbing his shoulder. “Yes. I am sorry…”
“You’ve not eaten. And it is I who have done all the talking.” He laughed, slightly abashed. “I’ve never found one as easy to talk to as you are.”
Frodo forced a smile, although he was very cold now, and a veil had fallen over his eyes. “I’m afraid I am weary,” he murmured. His left arm had grown numb. “I should go now.” He stumbled to his feet. The hall had darkened and chilled, and he feared the fire had burned out. He could not see where he was going and everything tilted and swayed, and then his face smacked against marble floor and he knew no more.
TBC
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Boromir
Rating: varies (this chapter PG)
Summary: Frodo and Boromir meet in Rivendell and find one another to be intriguing companions.
Disclaimer: Don’t own anything. Don’t make any money off it.
Chapter 1
Frodo entered his room, still smiling, his cheeks still hot. Leaning against the door, he caressed the spot on his brow that tingled from Boromir’s farewell kiss.
Upon taking his leave from Elrond’s library, Frodo had bid Boromir a cheery but casual farewell, but Boromir had been far more somber.
“It has been a great honor to speak with you at such length.” He had placed his broad hands on Frodo’s shoulders and stooped to kiss his brow. His mustache had tickled, and Frodo had swallowed a foolish giggle. “I hope I shall have the pleasure of your company again soon.” Boromir then bowed and strode away.
“So…where have you been?”
Frodo startled. He had failed to notice that his cousins were in his room, both smoking pipes in the terrace just outside the arched doorway. Pippin’s expression looked particularly accusing. “We held tea for two hours.”
Frodo gazed beyond them, watching the mist dance over the trees. Daylight had begun its swift waning, leaving the sky violet, sprinkled with faint stars, and leaving tree limbs shimmering silver under the moonlight. Frodo’s heart fluttered. Why, he had been in the library for far longer than he had intended. He recalled telling his cousins that he would be back before tea. Now it was already nearing the supper hour.
“Oh…” He smiled, still somewhat dazed. “I am sorry.”
He touched his brow again. Whenever Boromir laughed -- full, rich, and rumbling -- a gentle crease surrounded his sea gray eyes. There was a slight gap between two of his teeth, and sometimes when he paused, slightly uncertain, his tongue fidgeted in it. Frodo doubted he was fully aware that he did it.
“What did you find to read?” Merry asked, releasing a smoky breath. The familiar pipe-weed scent made Frodo long to dig his own pipe out of his traveling pack, but he refrained. He needed to rest. He was not fully recovered, and weariness pressed on him.
“Pardon?”
“You were in the library,” Merry continued. “What did you read?”
“Read…” Frodo simply could not remember the title of the book he had opened but had never read. He did, however, remember Boromir’s powerful shoulders as he reached up to snag the book from so high on the shelf-
“Well, something’s happened,” Merry said in exasperation, pointing to him with his pipe. “That was a whimsical smile just then. Did you see that, Pippin?”
Frodo laughed and looked away, unbuttoning his vest and thumbing his braces off his shoulders. He lay on his bed, stretching his legs and curling and uncurling his hairy toes. “Whatever do you mean?”
“What in the world is the matter with you?” Merry demanded.
“Perhaps,” Pippin said mysteriously. “He ran into Elrond’s fair daughter. That would surely explain why he can’t remember what he was reading.”
Frodo closed his eyes, hoping his blush was not obvious in the growing twilight. He considered for a moment. He surely did not feel for Boromir as a lad might for a lass - did he? His heart had fluttered when Boromir had clasped his shoulders. But he found he was fascinated rather than horrified by the possibility.
Another possibility drifted through his mind, of Boromir gripping his shoulders with forceful hands and shoving him against a wall in a quiet passage, breathing hard with need. He would drop to one knee and crush his lips with the strength befitting of a warrior--
“Be wary, Frodo,” Merry said, blowing a smoke ring in his direction. “Strider’s got a sharp sword - even if it is broken.”
“Oh, hush, the both of you,” Frodo said, covering his eyes with his arm. “Did you leave any cakes for me?”
Pippin shrugged in mock regret. “There aren’t even crumbs left, but you can’t blame us. The cakes come from Elrond’s kitchen, and they far surpass any from even the best bakeries in the Shire.”
“Ah, well,” Frodo said, curling onto his side and burying his head in the down pillow. “In just a few hours there shall be another feast and I shall more than make up for the lack. Now let me rest.”
The ringing of many bells signaled the beginning of the feast in the hall of Elrond’s house. This was not a feast in Frodo’s honor, such as the one on the first day after his recovery. That had been a formal affair, at which the guests had sat around the table. Instead, a long table had been pushed against the wall and it had been filled with every imaginable food - from rich, plump fruits to bread so soft and buttery that it promised to melt in the mouth.
So much food, more food than any one hobbit could ever dream to eat at one sitting -- it was like a dream come true, after weeks in the wilderness. Frodo filled his plate with unabashed eagerness. The plate, he was dismayed to discover, was tiny and delicate - barely large enough to hold enough food for a baby, in Frodo’s humble opinion. But he could always go back for more.
“One might wonder what you’ve done all day to have worked up such a hearty appetite.”
Frodo turned in pleasant surprise, and his heart turned pleasantly. He had harbored the faint hope that he might see Boromir this evening. Boromir stood beside him, smiling. Frodo’s head barely reached just below his shoulder, but he was just nose level with the plate of food that Boromir carried.
“Oh, it was nothing, really,” Frodo said, smiling. “Just delightful and interesting conversation with a charming fellow from Gondor. I am glad to see you here.” He glanced at Boromir’s surprisingly empty plate. “Is that all you’re eating?”
“Oh, I do not like to sleep on a full belly.”
Frodo snorted. “Why, that’s the best way to go to sleep, your belly so full that you can scarcely move.”
Boromir patted his stomach with his free hand and groaned. “Nay. This food of the Elves, while remarkable, is far richer than anything I have been accustomed to.”
“Well,” Frodo said with a wink. “I’m sure you should suffer greatly if ever you had the opportunity to visit The Shire. I cannot believe that is all you will eat. But you can always change your mind. There’s plenty to eat. Will you join me…again? That is…” Frodo felt suddenly shy under Boromir’s keen gaze. “That is, if you do not have elsewhere you must be.”
Boromir nodded, visibly relieved. “Thank you…Frodo.” He looked at Frodo, his eyes clouding with uncertainty. “Frodo, is it not?”
“Yes,” Frodo’s heart lifted. It was a small thing, really, for Boromir to have remembered his name, but it warmed his heart all the same. He tugged Boromir’s sleeve. “Come…there are so many places where we can eat and enjoy the music in peace.” He led Boromir away, through a wide passage and through several other doors until they came into a new hall. A bright fire burned in a hearth between carved pillars. Elvish minstrels played music.
“Have you been here yet?” Frodo asked, under his breath.
“No,” Boromir said, entranced.
“This is the Hall of Fire,” Frodo said. “I came here the first night…after I woke.”
Frodo and Boromir settled on the floor and began to eat in silence. The huge fire gave off a golden, flickering light that roused Frodo’s heart.
The music wove in and out of their consciousness. Sometimes it danced with merriment, like carefree flaxen sun over a field of bright wildflowers, while other times it sank into melancholy, like moon reflected on ice, but always beautiful, always it tugged at the heart.
Mostly Frodo listened to Boromir speak of this and that. It was difficult to reign in his natural hobbity inclination to chatter incessantly, but he bit his tongue because he wanted so to learn everything about Boromir and the land from whence he came. So long had Minas Tirith lived under the shadow of Mordor.
To Mordor we will take you…
A painful chill settled into his shoulder, and he shivered. The music in the hall faltered, stuttered, and then went on.
“Are you well?” Boromir asked, jarring Frodo out of his dreamy thoughts.
“Oh…” Frodo looked up in embarrassment, rubbing his shoulder. “Yes. I am sorry…”
“You’ve not eaten. And it is I who have done all the talking.” He laughed, slightly abashed. “I’ve never found one as easy to talk to as you are.”
Frodo forced a smile, although he was very cold now, and a veil had fallen over his eyes. “I’m afraid I am weary,” he murmured. His left arm had grown numb. “I should go now.” He stumbled to his feet. The hall had darkened and chilled, and he feared the fire had burned out. He could not see where he was going and everything tilted and swayed, and then his face smacked against marble floor and he knew no more.
TBC