Shadows And Darkness

Shadows And Darkness

Posted: July 2005
Title: Shadows and Darkness
Author: LadyHawksShadow
Type: FCS
Characters: Boromir/Celeborn
Rating: R
Disclaimer: This is a product of a warped and over active imagination. All characters belong to Tolkien.
Timeline: AU
Warnings: implied m/m slash, dark, angst (not too bad, I promise).
Beta: Larian Elensar
Author's Notes: Suggested by Miranda Bell. Actually, I think what happened was she said "write this" and I did. * grin *

Summary: Celeborn senses the darkness in Boromir's soul.

*~*

Boromir sat shivering beneath the mallorn tree. His mind still thrummed and whispered with the witch's voice and the tears dropped from his eyes to splash on his clenched fists. He felt foolish and weak for his tears, yet he could not stop them; could not stop the whispered voices; could not erase the images that sprang to his mind. His Gondor, his beloved Minas Tirith aflame, and in crumbled ruin. Darkness surrounded his home and his lands.

The ring, it would save his city, his people, his family. But they wouldn't allow him to take it to Gondor, they wanted it destroyed, and the only way to do that was to take it to the door of the enemy. And risk the enemy taking back his prize. Boromir ground his teeth with the frustration of it all. It wasn't fair. Gondor needed that weapon. The council gainsaid him while the shadows stretched forth from Mordor.

At last, for a moment, the tears dried on his face and the tremor in his hands steadied. Rising, Boromir walked beneath the tall branches, watching the eerie lights that lit the forest and listening to the sad chorus that marked the passing of the great wizard. And he brooded. His heart hardened with the force of his anger. His mind turned increasingly to the uses of the ring, envisioning the glories that could be—should be—his.

Celeborn watched and his pale face creased into a frown. The one called Boromir, the Captain-General was, according to Galadriel, the key. On his actions would the quest succeed or fail. Even Celeborn, mate to a ring bearer only, could feel the shadows gathering in Boromir's soul. As Boromir walked among the great trees, Celeborn followed at a distance, intent on observing. He knew he could not interfere, and somehow a part of him wanted to try and save not only the quest, but the man as well. It was not like him to meddle in the affairs of the ring bearers. This unusual compulsion settled on him like a weighty mantle and he could not shrug it off. So he followed, quietly, unobtrusively. And he watched from the shadowy darkness.

Boromir wandered aimlessly, feeling dwarfed by the massive tree trunks. Overwhelmed by the elven harmonies that spoke of pain so deep that it seared his soul, though he understood the words not at all. Meanwhile, the sixth sense honed by years of fighting the dark foulness of Mordor warned him that he was watched and followed. This angered him, for he wondered why the elves did not trust him. Why must they snoop and pry and follow his every move. Was it not enough that they invaded his mind? Even now, he felt befouled by the touch. Anger festered like a canker until he stepped into a low garden and pressed his back against a tree. He could not draw steel here, but he could certainly confront his stalker.

Celeborn watched Boromir fade into the shadows and thought he'd moved into the small grotto to meditate or, perhaps, to shed more of the strange tears. Was it grief? Or did the mortal understand what the visions had shown him? Did he foresee his own doom? Celeborn knew the weight of such knowledge and understood how it would bow the shoulders, shrivel the soul. Was the man strong enough for such a burden? Galadriel said no and this, too, concerned Celeborn. For rarely was his wife wrong. The ring only aided her formidable powers; it was not the source of them.

He did not see Boromir until it was too late. And, then still, what would he have done? Rough hands closed over his silver robes, wrinkled the material and pulled him around so that he slammed against the tree. He could have stopped it. He could have killed the mortal then and there. He stayed his hand for he knew the shadows that gathered in Boromir's soul and knew, too, that the pendulum still swung. And he saw, deep within the gray eyes hope that he might avert the fate of this one, lone—and lonely—man.

He bowed his head in submission. "Lord Boromir," his voice was low and musical, lacking in the harshness with which he'd first greeted the guests. "I see you have found one of the many gardens."

Knuckles whitened against the cloth, shoving against Celeborn's chest, digging into the hard muscles. Bruises would appear later. With a soft oath, Boromir flung himself away from Celeborn and placed his back to the elf. "Forgive me, my lord, I did not know it was you." Boromir's body was unapologetic and the words that tumbled from his lips were hollow.

Celeborn stayed against the tree. He had no need to rush after the man. "I hoped I might offer counsel that might ease your suffering."

"Ease my suffering?" Boromir spun and his dark eyes were clouded with dark promises and shadows. "What know you of my suffering?"

Folding his hands before him, Celeborn bowed. "I, too, live in the presence of shadows, dark, deep shadows, which I cannot penetrate. I, too, know what it is to feel the threat of those shadows touch my soul. I, too, must accept decisions in which I have played no part in making. That, Lord of Gondor, is our shared fate."

Boromir shook his head and his blond hair fell across his eyes. "You know not of what you speak, Lord of the Golden Wood. I do not see the Black Gates from here. I do not smell the noxious poisons. You are safe, here, tucked away from the troubles of mere mortal men."

"Think you so?" Celeborn asked mildly. Before Boromir could respond, he continued on. "Our realm has shrunk in the last centuries. Mortals and orcs poach upon our borders with increasing impunity. Many of my people leave these shores every day—they return to the place whence they came, to a land of safety and refuge where the wars of mortals and evil cannot touch them. And I, ruler of a small kingdom, can but watch them flee." His graceful arms spread wide, encompassing the grove and beyond. "This is not the realm I was destined to rule, Lord of Gondor, this is the land I was forced to protect. I, too, have submitted to the will of others."

Deep lines scored Boromir's cheeks and the circles beneath his eyes spoke of sleepless nights and anguish of soul that he dared not speak aloud, even could he name the terrors dogging his footsteps. His pink tongue lapped at his lower lip and his gray eyes shifted so that he seemed to look for escape. "I spoke rashly," he said slowly, as if every word was dragged from the depths of his being. "The times we must face are difficult. Each must do what he can to protect his own."

"Even if it is against his will and better judgment." Celeborn moved away from the tree and tread lightly over the fallen leaves. He reached Boromir's side and placed his hands on the man's shoulders. Staring deeply into Boromir's eyes, he spoke softly. "I would help you, if you would let me. I see the shadow and darkness. The pendulum still swings. It need not be this way."

"What way?" Boromir cocked his head and stared for a moment at the long arms on each of his shoulders. The touch, so like the touch of a brother, sent heat radiating through him. He longed to find solace in the embrace, to lay aside his burdens, if only for a moment. He felt so weary. Always, since the day he first saw the ring, fatigue grew upon him like moss over the bark of an ancient tree. None on the journey could see what his decision to help the ring bearer cost him, none knew how much it hurt him to be so close to his people's salvation and be able to do nothing about it.

"Only the ring bearer must be alone," Celeborn said. He offered the thinnest of smiles and for a moment, he thought he saw the shadows shift, saw brightness where before was only impenetrable darkness. "Cannot you trust me to carry your burden for a while, at least? We are not enemies, you and I. We must always remain at the side of the ring bearers and share their burden, but we are unlike them for we are never alone in our quest. Others walk beside us, to carry shield and sword when we grow too weary to lift them any more. Even among the Nine Walkers are those who would help you, if you would let them. I see in your eyes that you consider them your enemies—rivals." Celeborn's white blond head bobbed slowly. He began to see beyond the veil to Boromir's soul. "He is not your enemy, Lord Boromir. He would help you, would you let him. As I would, should you allow me to."

A muffled sound escaped Boromir's lips and he bowed his head. "You cannot understand. How could you, you who face the all the ages unchanged and undiminished by time? I am mortal and I will die. I have not the centuries to do what must be done. And now I feel as though the time allotted to me is running out."

Celeborn drew up his hand and pressed it to the back of Boromir's skull, forcing the noble head down so that it rested on his breast and he stroked the thick hair with his fingers as a father might comfort his young son. And the pendulum swung and the shadows gathered. In the space of a heartbeat, he knew Boromir's fate and knew that Galadriel had spoken correctly. The quest would fail and on Boromir's troubled head would go the blame; the punishment. The body he held so closely trembled and Celeborn's heart grew heavier.

In the garden, the shadows grew longer as the flames slowly died out, as stars die out in the night sky. The moon hid her face. Flowers released their delicate fragrance on the wind and the trees sighed. Shadows lengthened among the shrubs and flowers. So Celeborn and Boromir stood, a pillar of silver light and a lesser shadow, locked in a strange embrace.

"You have seen your fate." Celeborn's eyes brimmed with tears for the mortal man held in his arms. Such a cruel doom belonged to this one, this noble being who sacrificed his own peace and happiness for the love of his people. Did he not deserve a better fate?

Boromir tilted his head so that he stared at the hollow of Celeborn's throat and watched as the muscles rippled as he swallowed. Bile rose in him and scorched his throat. Oh, yes, he had seen. He had seen many things in the darkness of the night. The shadows of Moria whispered evil tidings in his ears. Galadriel, the witch of the Golden Wood, confirmed his fate. "I have seen many things that I do not understand."

"You need not accept it," Celeborn could not decide if he were meddling or lying. "This fate—doom—it can be changed should you will it." And he saw then what he could do, how to lift the heavy burden that should not have been Boromir's. Could he take it upon his own shoulders? The elf considered the implications, looked down the long span of years and tested each strand of the fates' tapestry. He could unknot the fabric of time, yes. But what became of it then? He did not have the gift of foresight that his wife had, but he longed to give this man some hope, some opportunity to redeem what little dignity remained to him. Was not the darkest of shadows relieved by the promise of light?

The strength of Celeborn's conviction washed over Boromir like snowmelt. The darkness of his dreams seemed further away, connected to another. A shimmer of hope, the first since he'd sat at the Council of Elrond, touched his heart and he dared, for a moment, to believe. "How do I change this doom?" His voice was harsh with emotion.

Celeborn closed his eyes. Dared he do this thing? Dare he go against Galadriel and the council? His inner eye sought the calmness and peace that would show him his true path. The silver light eluded him and he could not see clearly. Perhaps, then, he was already upon the path, for good or ill, and could not turn his feet aside until he reached his destiny. With infinite slowness, he bent his head to Boromir's and pressed cool lips to the sweat-glazed temple. "Let the light of the elves pass through you."

The cryptic comment held Boromir spellbound. Never had something so simple as a kiss left him in such inner turmoil. Yet, the darkness seemed to shrink as the light invaded his soul. Dimly, he heard a voice ask how such a thing was possible. Even while his mind wondered on the nature of the speaker, he felt lips brush his own, felt the sweet brush of smooth chin and cheek over his skin and new that his own lips were parted wide, accepting what gifts Celeborn offered. Sunlight invaded his mouth followed by cool spring rains that replenished the bounty of the earth. Stars wheeled behind Boromir's closed eyes and he witnessed the outward expanding of eternity. His hands reached out and grasped the burning stars in the heavens and his skin burned without heat.

For a long while, Celeborn lay against the tree with Boromir's head cradled in his lap. He stroked the soft, thick hair and allowed his fingers to trail over the naked back. The moss was a suitable bed and his taking of Boromir had been patient and slow. Boromir's return gift had been filled with ferocity and anger. This Celeborn took into himself and poured out all his affection and love, spilling it into Boromir as he spilled his seed on to the ground. And now, at the end, Boromir found peace in exhausted oblivion. The last peace he would know before the final sleep would claim him. In the final moments, when Celeborn held Boromir close to him, the elf at least realized that it was not his power to avert the man's fate. Mortality would lay claim to the Lord of Gondor far sooner than later. For a time, only, the shadows were lifted.

Bowing his head, Celeborn accepted his defeat. None of the choices had ever been his. He, like Boromir, was cast upon a stormy sea and he could but ride the storm and hope for peaceful shores where shadows did not reach. Behind his eyes an image unfolded, revealing strong spring sunlight pushing aside a veil of darkness. As if on a stage, revealed by the slow drawing of the curtain, Celeborn saw that his actions were not, after all, a vain hope. While, truly Boromir's path lay in darkness, the end of his journey was filled with sunlight. The price he paid for it was small by comparison.

*****

THE END

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