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ashinaeStargazers
By:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ashinae
Rating: PG
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Summary: How utterly delightful it would be, he thinks, to bring his companion to the point of laughter.
Disclaimer: They're not mine and I'm most certainly not making any money off of this.
Notes: Completed, mostly, in January, finally edited. Smooches and love to my lovely betas,makamu, elke_tanzer, kortirion and zasjah
Stargazers
They lie side-by-side in the grass, staring up at a star-filled sky. The night is quiet, though occasionally a cool, gentle breeze rustles the leaves above them. The two men lie side by side, and there is a companionable silence between them. When Aragorn turns his head to glance at Boromir, the proud, familiar profile brings a small smile to his lips.
Boromir's expression is relaxed, unguarded; this is something that Aragorn has come to enjoy more than he can put into words. Aragorn has had the pleasure of seeing this expression often of late -- and the pleasure of enjoying Boromir's company without the others nearby.
Boromir's elbow bumps against Aragorn's arm as he folds his hands over his ribs. Aragorn thinks that he seems about to say something, but stops himself. Another moment passes, and once more he appears about to speak, only no words come at all.
Aragorn moves just a little closer, then rises up on one elbow and points to the sky. It is time to simply take the man's attention. "Do you see a shape there?" he asks.
Boromir studies the cluster of stars Aragorn is pointing to, with a great deal of concentration, but eventually he says, "No, I'm sorry."
"A bear," Aragorn says quietly.
Boromir blinks at him a few times, watching him dubiously.
"Look," Aragorn insists. "Ears... body... legs." He wiggles four fingers at the stars, twice.
"A bear?" Boromir questions.
"Yes."
"With eight legs?"
There is a long pause, then Aragorn says, "Yes," and lies down in the grass again.
"I have never seen an eight-legged bear," Boromir says after a moment spent squinting at Aragorn's constellation.
"Oh, they are very rare," Aragorn replies, a little loftily. "More native to the north. Gondor would never see their like."
"Are they dangerous?"
It sounds almost as though Boromir is choking back a laugh, so Aragorn presses on doggedly. How utterly delightful it would be, he thinks, to bring his companion to the point of laughter. "Not if you know what to do when you come across one."
Boromir finally rolls onto his side to face Aragorn. There is a mischievous grin upon his face when he asks quizzically, "And what should I do if and when I come across an eight-legged bear?"
Aragorn grins in return. "Give it an apple. It will be quite happy with that, and go away."
"But if I don't have an apple?"
"Run, quickly. Climb the nearest tree and wait for it to get bored and wander away."
Boromir considers these words. "I do hope you know that you are quite mad," he says, but Aragorn merely grins cheekily at him. He casts his eyes to the stars again and lies on his back.
They are silent again for a moment, then Aragorn says, "I was chased by one, once."
Boromir's expression is very amused when he turns back to Aragorn. "Indeed?"
"Yes," Aragorn replies. "They move very quickly."
"Well, with eight legs, I would imagine so," Boromir says. His tone is still grave, but slowly, slowly, the pretence of seriousness is starting to crumble.
"It was deep in the wilderness. I was getting quite fatigued, so I climbed up the nearest tree as quickly as I could. I waited there for an hour or two before it finally tired of waiting and it went away."
"Then how do you know that these creatures like apples?"
"Oh." Aragorn pauses to consider this. "I told another Ranger about my experience, and he said that he, too, had been chased by an eight-legged bear once. However, he gave the bear an apple that he had with him -- or rather, he threw it towards the bear in the desperate hope that it would like the apple -- and it left him alone quite contentedly, taking the apple with it."
"I see. It is a strange contrast in fulfilling meals, is it not? Apples, or men."
"Who are we to judge the ways of eight-legged bears?"
Again, Boromir takes a moment to consider Aragorn's words, and then he bursts out laughing. "You truly are mad!"
"But, I made you laugh."
"Indeed you did," Boromir admits, almost, but not quite, grudgingly.
"Then the madness is worth it, my friend."
Aragorn's smile, though infinitely gentle, is directed up at the sky. Boromir is scarcely aware of it when he reaches out and finds one of his hands, wanting at least some of his attention again. They lie together in the grass, once more in silence, for several contented moments. Then, carefully, Aragorn twines his fingers with Boromir's, then lifts the man's hand to his lips, brushing a light kiss across his knuckles. It is a rarity indeed to find Boromir in these quiet, unguarded moments, not wearing the leather gloves, heavy overclothes, and mail coat that protect him from the world.
When he kisses Boromir's hand again, he can hear the other man take a deep breath, hold it, and let it out shakily. He moves closer, leaning on his elbow and looking down. Even in the darkness, he can see how Boromir's fairer skin now looks slightly pink. He holds the hand tenderly against his chest, and murmurs, "Will you walk with me?"
Boromir's eyes fall closed a moment. He lets out another sigh, this one so soft that Aragorn sees it more than hears it, and then his eyes open again and he nods. "Yes, Aragorn," he murmurs. "I would walk with you."
By:
ashinaeRating: PG
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Summary: How utterly delightful it would be, he thinks, to bring his companion to the point of laughter.
Disclaimer: They're not mine and I'm most certainly not making any money off of this.
Notes: Completed, mostly, in January, finally edited. Smooches and love to my lovely betas,
makamu, elke_tanzer, kortirion and zasjahThey lie side-by-side in the grass, staring up at a star-filled sky. The night is quiet, though occasionally a cool, gentle breeze rustles the leaves above them. The two men lie side by side, and there is a companionable silence between them. When Aragorn turns his head to glance at Boromir, the proud, familiar profile brings a small smile to his lips.
Boromir's expression is relaxed, unguarded; this is something that Aragorn has come to enjoy more than he can put into words. Aragorn has had the pleasure of seeing this expression often of late -- and the pleasure of enjoying Boromir's company without the others nearby.
Boromir's elbow bumps against Aragorn's arm as he folds his hands over his ribs. Aragorn thinks that he seems about to say something, but stops himself. Another moment passes, and once more he appears about to speak, only no words come at all.
Aragorn moves just a little closer, then rises up on one elbow and points to the sky. It is time to simply take the man's attention. "Do you see a shape there?" he asks.
Boromir studies the cluster of stars Aragorn is pointing to, with a great deal of concentration, but eventually he says, "No, I'm sorry."
"A bear," Aragorn says quietly.
Boromir blinks at him a few times, watching him dubiously.
"Look," Aragorn insists. "Ears... body... legs." He wiggles four fingers at the stars, twice.
"A bear?" Boromir questions.
"Yes."
"With eight legs?"
There is a long pause, then Aragorn says, "Yes," and lies down in the grass again.
"I have never seen an eight-legged bear," Boromir says after a moment spent squinting at Aragorn's constellation.
"Oh, they are very rare," Aragorn replies, a little loftily. "More native to the north. Gondor would never see their like."
"Are they dangerous?"
It sounds almost as though Boromir is choking back a laugh, so Aragorn presses on doggedly. How utterly delightful it would be, he thinks, to bring his companion to the point of laughter. "Not if you know what to do when you come across one."
Boromir finally rolls onto his side to face Aragorn. There is a mischievous grin upon his face when he asks quizzically, "And what should I do if and when I come across an eight-legged bear?"
Aragorn grins in return. "Give it an apple. It will be quite happy with that, and go away."
"But if I don't have an apple?"
"Run, quickly. Climb the nearest tree and wait for it to get bored and wander away."
Boromir considers these words. "I do hope you know that you are quite mad," he says, but Aragorn merely grins cheekily at him. He casts his eyes to the stars again and lies on his back.
They are silent again for a moment, then Aragorn says, "I was chased by one, once."
Boromir's expression is very amused when he turns back to Aragorn. "Indeed?"
"Yes," Aragorn replies. "They move very quickly."
"Well, with eight legs, I would imagine so," Boromir says. His tone is still grave, but slowly, slowly, the pretence of seriousness is starting to crumble.
"It was deep in the wilderness. I was getting quite fatigued, so I climbed up the nearest tree as quickly as I could. I waited there for an hour or two before it finally tired of waiting and it went away."
"Then how do you know that these creatures like apples?"
"Oh." Aragorn pauses to consider this. "I told another Ranger about my experience, and he said that he, too, had been chased by an eight-legged bear once. However, he gave the bear an apple that he had with him -- or rather, he threw it towards the bear in the desperate hope that it would like the apple -- and it left him alone quite contentedly, taking the apple with it."
"I see. It is a strange contrast in fulfilling meals, is it not? Apples, or men."
"Who are we to judge the ways of eight-legged bears?"
Again, Boromir takes a moment to consider Aragorn's words, and then he bursts out laughing. "You truly are mad!"
"But, I made you laugh."
"Indeed you did," Boromir admits, almost, but not quite, grudgingly.
"Then the madness is worth it, my friend."
Aragorn's smile, though infinitely gentle, is directed up at the sky. Boromir is scarcely aware of it when he reaches out and finds one of his hands, wanting at least some of his attention again. They lie together in the grass, once more in silence, for several contented moments. Then, carefully, Aragorn twines his fingers with Boromir's, then lifts the man's hand to his lips, brushing a light kiss across his knuckles. It is a rarity indeed to find Boromir in these quiet, unguarded moments, not wearing the leather gloves, heavy overclothes, and mail coat that protect him from the world.
When he kisses Boromir's hand again, he can hear the other man take a deep breath, hold it, and let it out shakily. He moves closer, leaning on his elbow and looking down. Even in the darkness, he can see how Boromir's fairer skin now looks slightly pink. He holds the hand tenderly against his chest, and murmurs, "Will you walk with me?"
Boromir's eyes fall closed a moment. He lets out another sigh, this one so soft that Aragorn sees it more than hears it, and then his eyes open again and he nods. "Yes, Aragorn," he murmurs. "I would walk with you."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-07-09 01:20 am (UTC)Perfectly wonderful...a little shining gem of a story.
(and I am not and Aragorn/Boromir shipper!)
no subject
Date: 2005-07-10 09:06 pm (UTC)Also? Your Spongebob icon is delightful. He looks so happy! *G*