Reflections

By Nadrilin

Rated: PG (slash implied) Boromir/Legolas

World: Movie

Spoiler: Boromir reflects on his lost chance to take the ring, and on each member of the Fellowship and his feelings for each. Switches to Legolas’s reflections after Boromir’s death.

Disclaimer: All characters within this story are not mine but the creations of J.R. Tolkien

Feedback: If you want I’m new at this Nadrilin@hotmail.com

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Reflections

The ring, it calls to me like the sirens of the water, its voice both sinister and seductive. I see it glinting around the hobbit’s neck, winking at me, calling me, tempting me.

Why should it not be mine? I stride day after day to aide this quest, a quest to destroy that which can save us all. So close, I held it up in the glinting light of the sun reflecting from snow. It called my name, bid me to be its master. Why did I not grasp it? Why did I not take it and slide it upon my finger and destroy them all.

My father counts on me to bring back hope, hope for a city that has forgotten hope in the dawn. It is not the rain that water’s the lands of Gondor it is tears. It is the tears of maidens weeping for their lovers, of mother’s wailing for their sons.

Aragorn has he had ears to hear? Has the mighty king ridden through her gates only to watch the women fall to their knees and their wails echo in the night? Where was he as I led my people forward, swords drawn and shield high?

Where was he? He was safe; he was loved, while my people lay bleeding and dying he pranced through the woods with his elf mate. Slept in feathered beds while those he will rule took sleep in whatever ditch or cave they could find.

How I hate him, how I love him.

What of the little ones, no more the size of children, who toil on with songs and stories as if we were but walking through a forest in summer’s light.

Frodo, I see him suffer and I would not for selfish purpose ease his burden. However all eyes draw upon me if I should step to close. As if I am a demon lurking in his shadow. They would that this hobbit carries the ring to his doom, they will risk him to death and torture when there is another way. And they call themselves friends.

Samwise, stout in body and spirit. Does he understand what is being asked of his master? I doubt not, does he understand what lies beyond the gates of Mordor? Would he have such faith in the wizard if he knew that Gandalf leads them to their ends? I think not, but would he turn back if he knew? No so long as Frodo carried forward. If all friendships were bound by such loves Mordor would quake with fear. What it would be like to have such a friend. I have never known one.

Merry, perhaps it is he and Pippin that stayed my hand. Perhaps it is their faith in the quest and their endless banter, their zeal and lust for life and all things of comfort. Perhaps it is because of the eight it is these two who do not look at me with shadowed eyes. Do not expect me to fall. Perhaps it is because of them I have not.

Gandalf the grey, I feel his eyes upon me, hear the puffs of his cheeks as he draws from his pipe but I cannot read his mind. What is it he sees as he stares upon me, what is the sadness that fills his light eyes? Could it be the he cares for me, or does he wait for me to falter that he might turn me into something unnatural? It would be better that he kills me.

Gimli gruff and distant and proud for one so short. His eyes follow me but are quick to turn away, as if he is undecided if I am friend or foe. He makes no move to befriend me or scorn me, perhaps keeping a distance lest I fall it does not wound his heart. No it is not for him I did not seize the one ring, for him I care not.

Legolas the woodland prince, his eyes stare into my soul but do not burn me. His smooth features are as if carved from marble by the gods themselves. The way he moves without making a sound and glides atop the snow. How does he stand ever watchful and why does he watch me when he thinks I am asleep? Why is it when I linger behind him in the line I notice the way his golden hair catches the sunlight? Why was it his intake of breath when I held the ring, a strangled cry of withdrawn air that made me shudder and step forward to return the golden band to its bearer?

Why is it when I turned and my eyes met his and he nodded his head ever so gently I was filled with warmth despite the snow and Ice that surrounded us.

How is it that in my one chance to take hold of the weapon that would save my enemy I faltered? Faltered for fear that whatever love I sense from him would falter along with my will? The fear of seeing those beautiful blue eyes that haunt my dreams would close in disappointment. Is it for the fear he would turn away from me at the moment of my victory.

How is it that the opinion of a woodland prince can stay my hand? How is it that my heart is lifted from a simple glance from him my way?

How is that it his smile can banish the dark clouds from my mind and heal my soul?

How is it that I have come to love him?

Boromir rises from his bedroll and walks to stand at the edge of the crystal pool they have made camp by, he stares down at his reflection and his green eyes are filled with pain. He was to be the future Steward of Gondor, from his earliest days he has been trained up to be this man.

Who is he now? A would be murderer? A thief? Will the siren call take the man who is the defender of the weak and twist him into the wolves that destroy all that is pure and sweet?

He casts a glance to where the ring bearer sleeps, even as he does so he hears someone stir as if sensing his attention towards the hobbit.

He can imagine Aragorn, his fingers curled around the hilt of his sword lying watchful, waiting for him to fall upon the hobbit. Instead he turns his gaze back at his face and his eyes widen as the image of Legolas appears behind his.

“War within oneself can only produce one causality.” Legolas’s hand falls on his shoulder and his voice is soft. Boromir closes his eyes if this is a dream let him stay here only for a moment.

Legolas moves behind the large man and slides his arms around him resting his chin on Boromir’s shoulder. He hears Boromir’s breathing change but the man does not speak. Legolas wishes he could show the warrior the strength he sees with his Elvin eyes. That he could show them they all have weaknesses the ring calls to him also but it faint, its evil intent seemingly fixed on the man who has fought against the evil of its master most of his life. It tempts him because he loves his city, his people, and his father. His temptation even if misguided is noble and the elf understands this. He watches the war Boromir fights within himself and would take away his pain if there was a way.

“The war is what keeps me from failing.” Boromir’s voice is husky as he stands locked in the elf’s embrace. “I am but a man, without the wisdom of countless ages, raised among my own, among warfare, not nestled safely among the trees.” His voice is bitter. “How do I keep my feet upon this quest when the weapon that will defeat our enemy is but a few yards away?” “How do I betray my city, by being loyal to the Fellowship?” The torment in his voice makes Legolas close his eyes and tighten his arms around the man’s powerful chest.

“Search your heart Boromir; you know the ring will bring ruin.” Legolas turns his face now resting his cheek upon Boromir’s shoulder. He has watched the struggle that began when Frodo first place the ring upon the alter in Elrond’s house. He had seen the pain and disbelief in Boromir’s eyes even as he bolted up from his chair in Aragorn’s defense.

He has watched as day by day some of the warrior’s defenses have fallen, he has seen the playful side of this great man as he played like a boy with the hobbits allowing them to tackle him and take him to the ground, laughing as if he were carefree. Even if it only lasted a minute it will be in the his mind for all his long years.

Legolas pities him and loves him in one breath and as Boromir turns and looks at him he dares hope that the Son of Gondor feels the same. The hope turns to faith as the man’s hand brushes his cheek and his fingers lace into the elf’s long hair.

He says nothing as their eyes lock, they read each other’s souls and Legolas knows he would give his life if it would grant this man before him one day without pain, without torment, if for just one day his death would quiet the cries of the ring tempting this giant to tumble.

“My heart knows this, but my mind calls it a liar.” Boromir’s thumb traces Legolas’s chin. “I fear before the end, I will betray you all.” He looks away and Legolas’s fingers as smooth as any lass’s lay flat against his cheek and turns his face back so once again their eyes meet.

Without word or warning Boromir pulls him close and their lips meet sending warmth and desire unknown through the elf’s body. He parts his lips as Boromir’s tongue demands entrance.

Someone stirs from the camp and Boromir steps away from him and it is as if he is cast in shadow. The warrior looks back over the pond his breath quick and his face flushed.

“Boromir, son of Denethor, Captain-General of the armies of Gondor look at me.” Legolas’s voice is intense as he steps forward. “I will not let you fall.”

How prophetic had those words been, for not a few days hence from that moment had they run in terror from the great horned Balrog. How his heart had nearly frozen in fright as Boromir skidded to a halt in front of him and nearly pitched forward into an endless void.

He remembers grabbing Boromir first by his belt then wrapping his arms around him and pulling him back to safety, the safety of his arms.

Legolas stares into the campfire and closes his eyes, he had shed no tears for Gandalf and he fears if he begins to shed them for Boromir they will never cease.

He should have known as Boromir lingered in the boats the ring was calling to him, he should have seen it the way the great man seemed crushed by some unseen mantle upon his shoulders. He was too concerned listening for the orcs, scanning the horizon with his elf eyes to notice.

He should have not stayed behind as Aragorn charged forward when the horn of Gondor blew. He stayed blocking the orcs from following Aragorn hoping beyond hope that his brother, his friend, the heir of Gondor would have better chance to save his lover.

He was wrong, his folly had cost him the last moments of Boromir’s life, that chance to say goodbye. In his finally moments it was Aragorn who stared into his emerald green eyes, Aragorn who offered him comfort and assurance that he had not failed. All he could do was stand back and let the two make peace with each other.

The pain of seeing Boromir desperately clasp Aragorn’s shoulder, hearing speak the loving words of loyalty to another with his last breath and then the worst horror of all was watching as Aragorn leaned forward and kissed the love that did not belong to him goodbye.

“It should have been me.” He thinks bitterly. The days of running after that moment had been a blessing, the searing in his legs and the breathlessness of his lungs made it impossible to cry. Finding Gandalf again gave him hope that somehow, someway Boromir would return to him.

“Take some rest.” He glances up as Aragorn sits beside him and he hides the resentment that wells up inside him. “We have much yet to do.”

“I have no heart for this quest.” Legolas closes his eyes, it is not an Elvin quality to despair yet he finds himself mired in it. “My heart has been taken from me.”

“We will all miss him.” Aragorn is quiet as his gaze too falls to the flames. “He rose from his fall.” Aragorn lights his pipe. “He has earned his rest.”

“I will not let you fall.” Legolas’s promise echo’s in his mind and he grips Aragorn’s arm. Surprised Aragorn’s face turns towards his friend and Legolas crumples into his arms like a child.

The damn bursts and it is then that Aragorn understands.

He understands what kept Boromir from loving him.