dabbling in other fandoms
I do occasionally dabble in other fandoms aside from Rurouni Kenshin, ATLA, and more recently How To Train Your Dragon. I'm sure it's been noticed that I've posted scribbles from the Harry Potter fandom as well as the Final Fantasy one. I'm going to add another.
Title: A Change of Fate
Fandom: LOTR
Characters: Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli
Summary: He was prepared to die, but that didn't mean he wanted to die.
Rating: G
Words: 570
Status: incomplete
He must have blacked out - men of Gondor did not faint or swoon - because the next thing he was aware of was a pair serious gray eyes regarding him with great concern. He grimaced, failing to stifle a moan of pain, and Aragorn’s features softened with relief. A hand clutched at his shoulder and and fingers pressed against the pulse in his neck.
“I feared you lost.”
The words were breathed, barely above a whisper and, had it been any other man, Boromir would’ve thought it a sob. He moved restlessly, subsiding with a groan as colors exploded before his eyes and pain knifed through him. Aragorn shifted, pressing firmly on one shoulder and drawing back to examine the wounds. “Be at peace, friend.”
Boromir clutched at the Ranger’s arm, grasping for thoughts and words that seemed to elude him as his mind swam with pain and darkness. “The little ones. They took-”
His words strangled into a cry of agony as Aragorn pressed the flesh around an arrow. Gray eyes darted to look at him. “I’ve sent Legolas on. He makes a path for us to follow.”
A noise had the Ranger turning swiftly away, muscles tensing and then relaxing. “Gimli! Good. I will have to remove the arrows and will need your help.”
The dwarf stopped at Boromir’s side, passing a pack to Aragorn. The Man took the pack and sat back, quickly digging out healing supplies. Keen eyes examined him and then a grin wrinkled Gimli’s bearded face. “You did well, lad.”
The edges of his vision were darkening again. He’d always known he would die one day, but he’d hoped death wouldn’t come to him so soon. He didn’t want to die. Not now. Not when he had failed Gondor and her king. Breathing hurt, but not as much as the guilt and despair.
“Frodo?”
He’d barely been able to whisper the name, but Gimli’s dark eyes widened suddenly in remembrance. “Ah,” he exclaimed, “I nearly forgot to mention it. One of the boats is gone.”
The significance of such a statement was lost on Boromir, but Aragorn looked up with a smile of relief. “Good. That is good. He’s gone on, then.”
Gimli nodded. “And Sam’s pack is gone as well.”
Aragorn laughed, the sound light and it momentarily chased away the darkness crowding Boromir’s vision. “He does not go alone. Sam will look after him. Now, Gimli, it is time.”
The dwarf knelt and wrapped a strong arm across Boromir’s shoulder and pinned an arm to the ground. Aragorn braced himself on Boromir’s other side and leaned forward, expression set in grim determination.
“Wait!” he gasped, and Aragorn paused. “Wait. Leave me. You can do nothing.”
He heard Gimli grunt by his ear as if to say something, but Aragorn spoke first, his scowl fierce, “I will not leave a companion to die while he yet breathes. Not if I have the skill to save him.”
His eyelids felt heavy and he struggled to keep them open. He had to make him promise. “You will defend my people?”
Emotion moved through those sharp eyes. “I will not let the White City fall…or our people suffer.”
Elation moved through him. “Our people!” he gasped, hope surging through him and making him light-headed. His eyes burned and his vision blurred. “My king!”
Aragorn pressed a hand against his brow and then darkness took him.
Title: A Change of Fate
Fandom: LOTR
Characters: Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli
Summary: He was prepared to die, but that didn't mean he wanted to die.
Rating: G
Words: 570
Status: incomplete
He must have blacked out - men of Gondor did not faint or swoon - because the next thing he was aware of was a pair serious gray eyes regarding him with great concern. He grimaced, failing to stifle a moan of pain, and Aragorn’s features softened with relief. A hand clutched at his shoulder and and fingers pressed against the pulse in his neck.
“I feared you lost.”
The words were breathed, barely above a whisper and, had it been any other man, Boromir would’ve thought it a sob. He moved restlessly, subsiding with a groan as colors exploded before his eyes and pain knifed through him. Aragorn shifted, pressing firmly on one shoulder and drawing back to examine the wounds. “Be at peace, friend.”
Boromir clutched at the Ranger’s arm, grasping for thoughts and words that seemed to elude him as his mind swam with pain and darkness. “The little ones. They took-”
His words strangled into a cry of agony as Aragorn pressed the flesh around an arrow. Gray eyes darted to look at him. “I’ve sent Legolas on. He makes a path for us to follow.”
A noise had the Ranger turning swiftly away, muscles tensing and then relaxing. “Gimli! Good. I will have to remove the arrows and will need your help.”
The dwarf stopped at Boromir’s side, passing a pack to Aragorn. The Man took the pack and sat back, quickly digging out healing supplies. Keen eyes examined him and then a grin wrinkled Gimli’s bearded face. “You did well, lad.”
The edges of his vision were darkening again. He’d always known he would die one day, but he’d hoped death wouldn’t come to him so soon. He didn’t want to die. Not now. Not when he had failed Gondor and her king. Breathing hurt, but not as much as the guilt and despair.
“Frodo?”
He’d barely been able to whisper the name, but Gimli’s dark eyes widened suddenly in remembrance. “Ah,” he exclaimed, “I nearly forgot to mention it. One of the boats is gone.”
The significance of such a statement was lost on Boromir, but Aragorn looked up with a smile of relief. “Good. That is good. He’s gone on, then.”
Gimli nodded. “And Sam’s pack is gone as well.”
Aragorn laughed, the sound light and it momentarily chased away the darkness crowding Boromir’s vision. “He does not go alone. Sam will look after him. Now, Gimli, it is time.”
The dwarf knelt and wrapped a strong arm across Boromir’s shoulder and pinned an arm to the ground. Aragorn braced himself on Boromir’s other side and leaned forward, expression set in grim determination.
“Wait!” he gasped, and Aragorn paused. “Wait. Leave me. You can do nothing.”
He heard Gimli grunt by his ear as if to say something, but Aragorn spoke first, his scowl fierce, “I will not leave a companion to die while he yet breathes. Not if I have the skill to save him.”
His eyelids felt heavy and he struggled to keep them open. He had to make him promise. “You will defend my people?”
Emotion moved through those sharp eyes. “I will not let the White City fall…or our people suffer.”
Elation moved through him. “Our people!” he gasped, hope surging through him and making him light-headed. His eyes burned and his vision blurred. “My king!”
Aragorn pressed a hand against his brow and then darkness took him.