Nightfall

Notes: I think I'm writing a bizarre handpicked combination he mhe movie and bookverses. To keep it's simple, let's call this movieverse, with an order of book!Aragorn's foresight on the side. The timeline for the trip down the Anduin is also from the book, which is slower than the movie version.

Disclaimer: They're not mine, really!
Archiving at other sites: No, thank you!

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"Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall." -- Elrond

20 Nénimë (February)
3019 T.A.

The fellowship was mere days from Lórien, yet the relative peace gained there had all but disappeared, at least for Aragorn. He felt Gandalf's loss ever more keenly as they made their slow way down the Anduin. Every league south brought only more danger, and as the unseen menace increased, the mantle of leadership grew heavier -- as did the Ring.

He could see it with every step Frodo took, and in the shadowed expression on his sad face. And it was not only Frodo, he thought with worry, glancing toward Boromir's boat. Boromir seemed distracted, almost fey, as if caught in a waking dream. Aragorn could tell his behavior was troubling Merry and Pippin; the warm ease the three had once shared had all but disappeared.

Aragorn thought that he and Boromir had finally reached some understanding, a foundation from which a true friendship might take hold. He had admired Boromir from their first meeting, yet they had been uneasy from the start, burdened with prophecies and thousands of years of history, with expectations far beyond either man's control. In Lothlórien, he had hoped they had put that aside, yet some indefinable tension remained. In the few days past they had barely spoken, and then only of matters concerning their journey. If not the Ring, something else occupied his mind.

Dusk neared, so he called a stop for the day, and cally lly they pulled the boats to the western bank. They concealed them among the tall grasses, then marched inland, away from the soggy, low-lying ground of the riverbank. Aragorn chose a valley among the rolling downs for their camp, and the company went about the business of settling in for the night, unusually subdued. He allowed a small fire, hoping the warmth would lift spirits, yet supper was a quiet affair. After, they picked watches, and the hobbits and Gimli were soon asleep.

Legolas drew the first watch, and he moved silently around the camp's perimeter. Boromir remained by the fire, staring into the flames. Aragorn thought to draw him into conversation, but his own spirits were low, and he knew of nothing to say. He lit his pipe, and then walked around the base of one of the small hills surrounding their camp. He took no torch, for the waning moon gave sufficient light.

He lay back against the rise of the hill, grateful for the illusion of peace, even for a short while. He thought of Gandalf again, missing him almost desperately. He felt responsible, too, for had he not foreseen it? As rarely as such portents came to him, they were never wrong; should he not have insisted, then, that Gandalf avoid Moria?

His reverie was broken by footfalls too heavy to belong to Legolas. He relaxed as he recognized the approaching figure as Boromir, noting that he appeared more at ease than before.

"May I join you, or do you seek solitude?" Boromir asked.

Aragorn indicated the grass next to him, and Boromir sat. "I did not wish for my pipe to disturb those sleeping," he said. He was pleased that Boromir haughtught him out, and hoped they could again find the accord that had manifested in Lothlórien.

They sat quietly for a time, and Aragorn finished his pipe and laid it aside. Boromir finally spoke. "You miss him." It was an observation, rather than a question.

"I do, very much," he said. The weight of grief felt heavier as he spoke the words aloud. "I knew Gandalf for many years. I can barely remember a time when I did not have his counsel...his friendship."

"My brother will be sorely grieved," Boromir said. "He always took much joy in Gandalf's company whenever he visited Minas Tirith."

To their father's displeasure, Aragorn thought, remembering well Denethor's ill feelings toward Gandalf. Yet he had not missed that Boromir avoided speaking of his own feelings. "How fare you, Boromir? On the river today, you seemed...distracted."

Boromir shook his head. "Only weary, weary in body and of travel," he said. "I have been away nearly eight months, and I worry how it goes in Gondor."

Aragorn knew there was more; he knew the Ring disturbed Boromir, though to what extent he was uncertain. Yet nothing would come from raising the subject if Boromir was not willing to confide in him.

He was surprised when Boromir spoke again. "For most of the journey north, I was as alone as I have ever been, in the empty wilds," he said. "I was grateful when I learned I would not have to journey home in solitude, and yet..."

The rest was left unspoken, but Aragorn knew it was as close as he would come to admitting what troubled him. "It wants you to believe that you are alone, Boromir," he said quietly. "The Ring would have you believe that only it can provide what you seek. 'Tis the Enemy's foul work, to sunder those it would control from each other."

Boromir said nothing, looking away. Aragorn reached out and grasped his shoulder, drawing his attention, and as he turned, their eyes met. "You are not alone," Aragorn said simply.

Boromir did not reply, but he held Aragorn's gaze. In the space of a breath, Boromir's eyes changed, and his usual deliberate calm disappeared. Aragorn instead saw pain, and something else, something far different than Boromir had revealed during their long months together. He suddenly understood, and the reason for the unease between them became clear. His foresight had failed him, he thougand and so had far simpler instincts.

Boromir's eyes finally dropped, his own understanding written on his face. He tried to pull away, but Aragorn drew him back until their faces were only inches apart.

"You are not alone," he repeated, his voice low and intimate, the words carrying a different meaning this time.

"Aragorn--" Boromir tried to draw away again, but Aragorn quieted him with a kiss; it was a gentle, undemanding kiss, the barest brush of lips. Boromir looked at him with surprise for a moment, then slipped his hand behind Aragorn's neck and pulled him roughly forward.

There was nothing gentle about this kiss, nothing uncertain or tentative. Boromir's lips were hard and searching, full of hunger and want, and Aragorn's own mouth opened in response. Boromir pressed him back into the grass, one hand against his chest while the other caressed his throat.

The kiss might have become a battle for supremacy, another skirmish in their war of roles and expectations, but Aragorn willingly submitted to Boromir's invasive mouth, delighting in his strength, his demands. He wrapped his hands around Boromir's back, sliding under his tunic, feeling the warmth of his skin. He pulled Boromir close, and despite the layers of clothing, both men gasped at the heat between them, finally breaking the kiss.

Boromir lifted his head, and their eyes met. His eyes were bright, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and confusion, searching Aragorn's gaze as if seeking the answer to a question. Aragorn waited for him to speak or not, content for the moment to feel the strong body pressed against his, the solid muscle of Boromir's back, the heat of the thigh against his own.

Perhaps Boromir found what he sought in Aragorn's eyes, for he did not speak. He reached for Aragorn again, drawing him forward for another blistering kiss, shifting his weight until their thighs were entangled. Aragorn's own arousal quickly spiralled, and the intensity of his response surprised him. He reached for the brooch at Boromir's throat, releasing the Elven cloak. Boromir did the same, then moved his mouth down Aragorn's neck, kissing and pulling at the ties on his jerkin as he went.

"What of your betrothed?" he asked, his voice a whisper.

Aragorn lifted Boromir's chin until their gaze met. He thought of Arwen with love and longibut but without guilt or regret, remembering a conversation from long ago. "She wishes me any joy I might find during our time apart," he said, simply and truthfully. He leaned forward, taking Boromir's mouth in a kiss.

"Joy..." Boromirsperspered against his lips.

"Joy," he said firmly, lifting his body long enough to shrug off his coat and pull his shirt over his head. He reached down to pull off his boots, then did the same for Boromir, pushing away hands that tried to help. It was far too long before their lay layers were shed, but finally their chests pressed together, skin against skin, only leggings between them.

Boromir fanned a cloak out on the grass and pressed him back against the soft fabric before claiming his mouth again. Swiftly he moved from Aragorn's mouth to his throat and chest, kissing and biting at the same time, leaving him longing for more. Aragorn combed fingers through Boromir's hair, then traced the muscles of his shoulders, his upper back. Desire thrummed through his entire body, taking on a life of its own, whispering quiet but urgent demands.

Boromir's mouth reached his waist, tracing the heat of his sex through the cloth, and his hips pressed up of their own accord. He stifled a moan before reaching for Boromir's shoulder, urging him upwards until Boromir's mouth found his neck once more. Their hips pressed together, and the friction was almost enough.

Almost.

He could hear the need thick in his own voice as he whispered, "How would you have me, Boromir?" Aragorn felt a shudder ripple through the other man. "Tell me," Aragorn said, his voice low and insistent.

Boromir's eyes were dark with need, but he whispered his answer as if he did not quite believe he was speaking the words. "I would take you," he said roughly.

"Then take me," he answered without hesitation, amused at the disbelief in Boromir's eyes. "There is only this, only us," he said, guiding a hand to the ties at his waist. "There is no court, no rank, no bowing or kneeling," he arched an eyebrow, his expression turning mischievous. "Unless kneeling suits our desires..."

Boromir smiled then, and kissed him again. He reached for Boromir's waist, pulling at the ties there, until Boromir drew back. "We cannot," he said, his hand settling on Aragorn's hip. "We have nothing..."

Understanding, Aragorn reached behind him for his coat, fumbling through a deep pocket until he found a vial, part of his healer's cache, and pressed it into Boromir's hand. "We brought many useful things from Lórien."

"Did we," Boromir said, grinning as he set the vial down before reaching for Aragorn, stripping off his leggings, freeing his aching sex. He returned the favor, pulling Boromir's leggings off and tossing them aside. Boromir's grin disappeared as he leaned over Aragorn again, his expression changing to one of simple hunger.

He reached for Aragorn's sex, bringing it together against his own, his hand grasping them both, swirling his thumb around their leaking tips. Aragorn gasped, arching into the touch as Boromir claimed his mouth once more. His senses sang with pleasure, and something deep within him gave way, surrendering to the connection between them.

His heart pounded an erratic rhythm, hammering against his chest while Boromir continued the slow mastery of his body. Hands and mouth sought every inch of skin, leaving Aragorn aching for more. This will end too soon, he thought, as Boromir's mouth traced a long line down his stomach, especially if... Oh, Elbereth. His hips arched, a low moan escaping his lips as Boromir took him in his mouth. Hot, wet, welcoming, the sensation was perfect, nearly overwhelming. With a hand to his shoulder, urging him away, he whispered, "Boromir..."

With a final kiss to his aching sex, Boromir nodded, kissing his way back up Aragorn's body. He could taste himself on Boromir's lips as they kissed again, but far more affecting was the taste of Boromir's obvious hunger, the heat of his skin beneath Aragorn's wandg hag hands. As Boromir reached for the vial, their eyes met. Aragorn hoped Boromir saw the desire and trust he felt, the ease and readiness with which he placed himself into his hands.

Boromir smiled, dropping a light kiss on his mouth as he urged Aragorn onto his side, moving behind him. He could not still the shiver that coursed through him as Boromir traced a finger down his spine, then gently shifted one hip forward. He felt a kiss on his shoulder as the hand disappeared and then returned, coated with oil. Boromir's touch was deft, practiced, and he relaxed as much as the need in his own sex would allow. Warm lips found his neck as fingers slipped inside of him, and he moaned as his body pressed back, seeking more.

As the fingers left him, his heart pounded with the anticipation of feeling Boromir inside him, but when the sensation came, it was better than he could ever have imagined. They both gasped as Boromir slipped inside easily, burying himself completely. He wrapped both arms around Aragorn and pulled him tight against his chest, deman not nothing less than complete surrender. Aragorn gave it willingly, his head dropping back onto Boromir's shoulder, moaning as each thrust found the place deep inside him that made him writhe with pleasure.

He started to tremble as Boromir increased his pace, pounding into him, leaving barely a moment between thrusts to gasp for much-needed breath. His own sex lay rigid, untouched and aching, until finally Boromir had mercy and wrapped his hand around him. He joined Boromir's increasing rhythm, their hips moving together until he thought he might die from the pleasure. He felt a sharp bite to his neck, and that was all it took to send him into bliss. He shuddered, completion pulsing through him as he came against Boromir's hand. Boromir followed with a low cry, pulling Aragorn tightly back against him, his tongue soothing the bite he had left moments before.

Long minutes passed as their breathing calmed and heartbeats slowed. Boromir slipped from Aragorn's body, but kept his arms wrapped tightly around him. Aragorn could almost believe they were back in Lothlórien, protected by the watchful eyes at its borders. The burden of leadership had not felt so heavy there, and he wished theuld uld stay and share this moment of peace awhile longer.

But he knew they must return, and Boromir soon echoed his thoughts. "We should dress, and go back," he murmured, glancing up at the moon. "I will have the watch soon."

"Aye, we should go," Aragorn said.

"Aye."

Despite their agreement, neither was inclined to let the moment end. Finally, they did move, gathering bits of clothing. A scrap of cloth from Aragorn's coat pocket proved woefully inadequate to the task of cleaning themselves, but they did as best they might.

As Boromir reached for his tunic with a sigh, Aragorn stopped him with a gentle kiss. "You are not alone," he said, his voice low, urgent. "Know this," he said, placing his palm over Boromir's heart.

Their eyes met, and he saw warmth in Boromir's gaze, and lingering desire. Boromir's taste was still in his mouth, and yet Aragorn could see him struggling to put his familiar masks back into place. But he was more than reserved; he seemed sad, regretful, not for what had happened between them, but that it waer, er, and this momentary solace might be all they would ever share.

His heart sank in his chest, dismayed by Boromir's hopelessness. "We will get through this," he said. "We are strong, and we are stronger together than we are alone."

With a nod, Boromir kissed him once more, then moved away to dress. Aragorn watched him with concern, holding fast to the hope that whatever connection had been formed tonight might strengthen during the days ahead. Their connections to each other were all that stood between them and the shadow; their only strength against the evil around them lay in those ties.

He could only pray it would be enough.

~ the end ~

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