Second try-- not content yet but well
Mountains
Disclaimer: This is all fictional. I made it up.
Charakters, places and all which belongs to Middle-earth belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I make no money out of this.
Pairing: B/F
Rating: PG-13 (Don´t know -really!)
Summary: Just came into my mind when I looked at a picture of Boromir and thought that he seldom seems content. He has a sad look in his eyes as if longing for something he could not have.
The walls of Minas Tirith shone white in the midday sun. After passing the crosses of Erui there were many people now on the road. All heading towards the main city of Gondor. He had been visiting his relatives in Dol Amroth and on the way back north decided to explore this part of his homeland more closely. He had never actually been to Lebennin before.
Daith- he had met him in an inn in a hamlet which was as small but quite wealthy like all the villages in that part of Gondor. The folk lived mainly of agriculture. Fruit and wheat grew well south of the mountains and the soil was rich enough to allow the people to crop more than they needed to provide themselves. Daith was about his age and spoke the dialect of the south. He had fair hair and was lean but muscular. They talked, they laughed and then decided to climb up a sommit of the White Mountains together - just because it was there, as Daith said to the innkeeper when they left. They rode to the foothills following the Gilraen north and then pursued a more north-westerly course until they reached the foot of the summit which Daith called Eos but there was no regular name on the maps Boromir had brought with them. The guards which accompanied the Steward`s son made up the camp and although they did not agree with this adventure they knew they had no chance to dissuade their master from climbing up that mountain if he wishes to do so. He and Daith had climbed up the heights of Eos and back in their tent at the camp they climbed to heights of passion. Reaching the peak on both occasions.
After he had briefly greeted his father Faramir led him to the kitchens of the palace to get some food and to sit at their usual “speaking table” in the corner. In here noone bothered them with requests or pleas or orders. And besides Denethor never visited this part of his residence. Boromir was still thrilled from his experience, he kept on talking to Faramir for hours even breathing seemed to take too long. As always his brother was interested and listened intensely to the stories his brother told. He loved it when Boromir talked and could not get enough of it. He hasn´t changed in that since he was a little boy. And Boromir knew noone whom he liked to talk to more. They sat with their beer, their heads nearly touching, sometimes one placed a hand on the others arm or shoulder.
When Boromir made a small break in his never ending tales of Daith and the mountains Faramir asked: “So where does he live?” “In Lebennin, about seven days to ride from Minas Tirith.” “Will you see him again?” “I hope so- he would keep in touch.” “Honestly and please believe me I don´t want to spoil your adventure but I think he is not as interested in meeting again as you are or he would have given you more detailed advices how to find him.” Deep inside Boromir had these thoughts also but he buried his fears under a mountain of hope. When he looked at his brother again he saw the slightly strained features, the squeezed eyes. “I know you don´t like the southerners but you´d like him, I think. He´s very funny and generous and has so many stories to tell”, Boromir said quietly not quite sure of his brothers thoughts. Faramir sighed. Bory will never be good at understanding anothers feelings, he thought. He always asked him when wondering about peoples motives. “He was funny and generous and talkative as long as it took to reach his aim, Boromir. To bed you”, he added. “However”, Boromir frowned, “it was fun.” His brother smiled at him. “Would you like to go swimming tommorrow? The brook has a pleasant temperature now.” “If you wish, yes, I will come”, Boromir sighed. So the adventure was over and normality had him back.
This became even clearer when his father said to him at the evening meal: “You know you´ll have to attend the ball on friday night. I hope you will think about the lady you wish to accompany and do not leave the question of your partner at table to me, as usual.” His expression must have shown his feelings clearly. But he bowed only his head saying nothing. He learned a long time ago that this was the easiest and safest way to deal with his father, mostly.
I wish I could live like this forever. Always on the road. No expectations to live up to just my own. No dutys like dancing at balls. Just short visits at home to keep up with Faramir. And then off again to far away lands visiting strange places and people. Go on as long as the sun settled or the land ended.
Leaving the hall after supper Faramir slipped his arm around his waist. “Will you come to my rooms after the ball?” And Boromir knew there was certainly more in being at home again.
Disclaimer: This is all fictional. I made it up.
Charakters, places and all which belongs to Middle-earth belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I make no money out of this.
Pairing: B/F
Rating: PG-13 (Don´t know -really!)
Summary: Just came into my mind when I looked at a picture of Boromir and thought that he seldom seems content. He has a sad look in his eyes as if longing for something he could not have.
The walls of Minas Tirith shone white in the midday sun. After passing the crosses of Erui there were many people now on the road. All heading towards the main city of Gondor. He had been visiting his relatives in Dol Amroth and on the way back north decided to explore this part of his homeland more closely. He had never actually been to Lebennin before.
Daith- he had met him in an inn in a hamlet which was as small but quite wealthy like all the villages in that part of Gondor. The folk lived mainly of agriculture. Fruit and wheat grew well south of the mountains and the soil was rich enough to allow the people to crop more than they needed to provide themselves. Daith was about his age and spoke the dialect of the south. He had fair hair and was lean but muscular. They talked, they laughed and then decided to climb up a sommit of the White Mountains together - just because it was there, as Daith said to the innkeeper when they left. They rode to the foothills following the Gilraen north and then pursued a more north-westerly course until they reached the foot of the summit which Daith called Eos but there was no regular name on the maps Boromir had brought with them. The guards which accompanied the Steward`s son made up the camp and although they did not agree with this adventure they knew they had no chance to dissuade their master from climbing up that mountain if he wishes to do so. He and Daith had climbed up the heights of Eos and back in their tent at the camp they climbed to heights of passion. Reaching the peak on both occasions.
After he had briefly greeted his father Faramir led him to the kitchens of the palace to get some food and to sit at their usual “speaking table” in the corner. In here noone bothered them with requests or pleas or orders. And besides Denethor never visited this part of his residence. Boromir was still thrilled from his experience, he kept on talking to Faramir for hours even breathing seemed to take too long. As always his brother was interested and listened intensely to the stories his brother told. He loved it when Boromir talked and could not get enough of it. He hasn´t changed in that since he was a little boy. And Boromir knew noone whom he liked to talk to more. They sat with their beer, their heads nearly touching, sometimes one placed a hand on the others arm or shoulder.
When Boromir made a small break in his never ending tales of Daith and the mountains Faramir asked: “So where does he live?” “In Lebennin, about seven days to ride from Minas Tirith.” “Will you see him again?” “I hope so- he would keep in touch.” “Honestly and please believe me I don´t want to spoil your adventure but I think he is not as interested in meeting again as you are or he would have given you more detailed advices how to find him.” Deep inside Boromir had these thoughts also but he buried his fears under a mountain of hope. When he looked at his brother again he saw the slightly strained features, the squeezed eyes. “I know you don´t like the southerners but you´d like him, I think. He´s very funny and generous and has so many stories to tell”, Boromir said quietly not quite sure of his brothers thoughts. Faramir sighed. Bory will never be good at understanding anothers feelings, he thought. He always asked him when wondering about peoples motives. “He was funny and generous and talkative as long as it took to reach his aim, Boromir. To bed you”, he added. “However”, Boromir frowned, “it was fun.” His brother smiled at him. “Would you like to go swimming tommorrow? The brook has a pleasant temperature now.” “If you wish, yes, I will come”, Boromir sighed. So the adventure was over and normality had him back.
This became even clearer when his father said to him at the evening meal: “You know you´ll have to attend the ball on friday night. I hope you will think about the lady you wish to accompany and do not leave the question of your partner at table to me, as usual.” His expression must have shown his feelings clearly. But he bowed only his head saying nothing. He learned a long time ago that this was the easiest and safest way to deal with his father, mostly.
I wish I could live like this forever. Always on the road. No expectations to live up to just my own. No dutys like dancing at balls. Just short visits at home to keep up with Faramir. And then off again to far away lands visiting strange places and people. Go on as long as the sun settled or the land ended.
Leaving the hall after supper Faramir slipped his arm around his waist. “Will you come to my rooms after the ball?” And Boromir knew there was certainly more in being at home again.