.|. Radical Dreamers .|.

Chapter 18

~

* * * * *

Legolas was the first to wake the next morn.

He first opened his eyes at dawn, feeling sore in the strangest places, yet so happy that he wondered if his heart wasn’t about to physically burst out of his chest. After a moment of confusion he became more or less aware of his surroundings, but acutely aware of the warm and strong form he was using as a pillow – and mattress.

Aragorn.

As the Elf realized exactly where he was, and what had happened, he had to quench an impossible urge to giggle rather foolishly. That first instinct tamed, his arms moved on their own accord, one wrapping behind Aragorn’s back to pull him closer, the other burying itself in the Man’s unruly strands.

He hadn’t moved since then, and the Sun was now high enough to filter through the leaves and create patches of golden and white on the floor. And, though not unpleasant, the air had become chilling. Idly, Legolas thought he should go and retrieve a blanket of sorts to wrap around their naked bodies, but really couldn’t find it in himself to leave Aragorn’s side.

Addicted to a Man, he mused. If anyone ever told me I would once become addicted to a mortal man, I would surely have their sanity tested.

So he opted for just laying atop his lover, unwilling to do anything more than breath. He leaned his head on Aragorn’s shoulder, kissing softly the gently sloping hollow were his neck and shoulder met.

It is a shame that night doesn’t last forever. He thought. Outside, a bird called. Legolas glanced up lazily, spotting a royal Eagle coasting across the lingering darkness; then he focused back on his lover.

In a few hours –days, perhaps- they would have to leave for Gondor, and there remain, close enough to touch but as distant as they’d ever be.

In a few days, they’d have to let the other go, and forget.

I wonder if I could order him not to marry once I become the Prince Consort of Gondor, and then have him for myself. He’s a honourable Man, and faithful to Gondor – he’d never go against his Sire’s wishes. Legolas thought with no little bitterness. But his life would be destroyed, and he’d hate me. Even if it could be done and in the end I gained his body, I’d still lose him.

In a rush of melancholia, Legolas reached up memorize the feel of Aragorn’s stubble against his fingertips, trying his best not to think about how well he fitted in the Man’s strong arms.

Aragorn stirred under his tender ministrations. Not wanting to disturb the Man’s sleep Legolas started to move away, but was immediately yanked back where he belonged – against Aragorn.

“I was just having the most pleasant dream.” The Man murmured, eyes still closed.

“Oh?” Legolas inquired, breath warm against the Man’s cheek before he kissed it.

“Yeah.” Aragorn smiled.

“What about?”

“You.” Aragorn reached up to brush a strand of hair off of Legolas’s face, eyes open at last. “Though I may admit, I can try till the end of time, but I’ll never conceive a dream that’s more perfect than the real you.” He sighed and looked at Legolas earnestly, tenderly cupping his cheek.

“Flatterer.” Legolas shot back, hoping he was not blushing. No such luck – Aragorn was grinning from ear to ear in amusement.

“Anything to seduce my favourite Elf.”

“Oh, so now you’re trying to seduce me?” Legolas said, one eyebrow arched up.

“Not yet…” Aragorn trailed off. One moment, and he had reversed their positions, pinning Legolas to the ground with his larger frame, raining small, wet kisses up and down the lovely expanse of the Elf’s neck. “Now I am.”

“A-Aragorn we shouldn’t really…” his words changed into a gasp when Aragorn suckled the skin near the Elf's collarbone and at the same time reached up to fondle the point of his ear– the only weak spot an Elf had.

“Shouldn’t what?” Aragorn’s voice was husky, but still held a small tremble hinting to how amused he was by the Elf’s sudden inability to breath. Legolas, the Prince of Multitask Looks shoot him one look that hovered in-between the “Don’t_you_dare_laugh_at_me”-one and the “Are_you_really_asking”-one, even as it held a remarkable similarity to  the “Ignore_whatever_my_mouth_is_uttering_and_PLEASE_DON’T_stop”-one.

“They must be waiting for us. We were going to have breakfa—HMM!” Aragorn thrust his tongue into the Elf’s open mouth, effectively silencing him.

Legolas’s capitulation was quick and painless. He surrendered silently to the kiss, even though he started to babble softly in Elven when Aragorn went back to tease the Elf’s chest with his mouth. Every thought of having breakfast fled from his mind. In fact, thinking became quickly a most difficult task for Legolas. He was only remotely aware of Aragorn’s hand sliding up to find his own. Yet, even in his daze Legolas started at the feeling of something cold slipping on his ring finger. His head shot up, and he blinked owlishly at the ring shining quietly on his hand. It was truly a work of beauty, which twined both the craftsmanship of Elves and that of Dwarves: a band of shining mithril, in which was cast one emerald as green as Mirkwood leaves.

“Fits perfectly.” Aragorn smiled against the Elf’s bare chest. “I knew.” Legolas heaved a shaky breath.

“A-Aragorn…?” he whispered, barely breathing for the tension. “W-what…?” The Man stopped tracing lazy circle on the lovely expanse of Legolas’s stomach, and leaned up to rest his ear above the Elf’s beating heart.

“’Tis the ring of Barahir,” Aragorn said softly. “Long has it been passed down through my family. I…” he moved away just some, running a hand through his hair. “I…”

“Shh…” Legolas whispered, placing one slender finger on the Man’s lips. His voice was soft, loving. “You don’t have to say it, if it is so difficult.”

“It’s because it is so difficult that I’ve to say it.” Aragorn exhaled loudly, leaning up to sit on his heels, Legolas following him. The Man glanced at a movement out of the corner of his eye, barely making out an Eagle darting through the clouds, and then vanishing among the treetops. Then he began.

“I’ve never had many important things in my life. Not a family, having lost mine, nor true friends, being I noble. Few were those that really cared for me, and not for my nobility. Maybe only Arwen and Boromir did. Then… then I met you, and I found someone that loves me, and not whatever person I shall have to become to satisfy my people’s expectance. I found someone I care for more than my own self. I found a family, a friend, someone who I belong with. I found… you. And I don’t think I could ever let you go.” He found his eyes had strayed back onto Legolas. He smiled tentatively, taking Legolas’s hand in both his larger ones, and lovingly stroked his thumb across the ring. “I don’t know if I’ll be allowed to call off my marriage, or if you will. But, if you want this too, I’m ready to try. I’m ready to fight, until they see reason and let *us* marry. If… if you want me.”

“Want you?” Legolas smiled, cupping Aragorn’s face and bringing it down to kiss him thoroughly.

“Would if I could marry you right in this moment, melamin!” He very nearly cried out when they separated. Aragorn purred out an incoherent something, smiling dazedly, with his eyes closed and his cheeks flushed. In the whole, he looked more than just a little dazed. Legolas mentally gave himself a hand-shake: he didn’t think he’d ever kissed anyone senseless before. Well, not that he’d ever kissed anyone before Aragorn, but that’s just a minor detail.

He was so lost in complimenting himself that he didn’t even notice it when Aragorn’s look turned from blissful from feral. With a speed one would not expect from a Man Aragorn had them both on the floor again, his fingers busy worshipping Legolas’s hair.

“Now that that’s settled, can we get to the interesting part? Like, work a little on the wedding night?” he asked casually.

“So you’ve only been interested in my body all along?”

“Definitely.” Aragorn ducked when Legolas swung his fist at him, but didn’t manage to stop Legolas when the Elf rolled them over and straddled him, pinning his wrists lightly to the floor.

“That was just the most romantic moment of my life, and you go and ruin it!” Legolas tried hard to look offended.

“I’m up for a punishment, if it means you’ll keep straddling me so!”

“Aragorn! You’re impossible!”

“And you love me for it.”

“Maybe…” Legolas smiled casually, and secured the Man’s wrist in one hand, skidding his fingers down Aragorn’s arms to his chest. He hovered closer, smiling with all the sensuality he could muster (and that meant a LOT); and when Aragorn looked at him eagerly, he…

…began to tickle the Man mercilessly.

“Agh! Legolas no! Ahahahah! Let go! Aaaaah… Let go!”

“This spot is ticklish, uhm? I’ll remember that.”

“No! Legolas! Ahahaha! Have mercy!”

“Like you deserve it!”

“Lego-ahahahahahah!-las!!!!”

“Yup, that’s approximately my name. What?”

“S-s-stop!”

“I’m not even started, my dear!”

Much, much later a sleepy, elated, sticky Legolas cuddled up against a flushed and equally elated (and sticky) Aragorn.

“Love you.”

“Love you too, my Elf.”

* * * * *

Any of us has –when in need to concentrate- one peculiar trick to make his or her mind work better. Some find it easier to concentrate if they sit alone, in perfect silence and darkness. Some find it easier to concentrate while immersed in the nature, for example watching the water of a river flow by. Some others need to keep their hands occupied as their mind works.

As Elladan soon found out, Éowyn belongs to the latter category – but with a distinction.

She didn’t need her hands to do just *something*, to concentrate.

She needed to braid hair.

Preferably elven hair.

Preferably blonde, but since they still had to create hair dye, Elladan auburn hair would have to do.

“I’ve never, *ever* seen anyone blinder than those two!” Éowyn muttered, grasping one strand of Elladan’s fine hair and pulling savagely. “Brush.” She called, then snatching the silvery brush from Elladan as he handed it to her.

They had made themselves comfortable on the floor of Éowyn’s talan – the same talan where them both plus Arwen had spent the night long chatting, laughing, drinking hot cocoa, eating cakes and dozing off a little. Not that any of them had expected Elladan to stay the night when they’d reached the talan the previous evening. It’s just that, after knocking him out, Éowyn couldn’t really find it in herself to leave him sprawled on the forest floor. So Arwen and she had somehow managed to drag him upstairs and place him in bed.

After that, it didn’t take him much to come back to his senses at all: seeing that slapping him didn’t help (no matter how hard she did it) Éowyn resolved to splash the poor Elf with a bucket of icy water, drenching him and the bed from head to toe. However, when he awoke they all started chatting amiably, and completely lost track of time.

The first rays of the sun discovered them sleeping all curled up in a pile, as though they were three Hobbits and not Three Elves -- well two real Elves and one fake. But then Arwen had been summoned by her Grandmother and left Elladan and Éowyn alone, still sleeping contentedly. When Haldir showed up, barely after dawn, to fetch her, the Evenstar lovingly tucked one additional blanket around  Elladan and Éowyn’s bodies, disentangled one from the other enough so they wouldn’t wake up to all of their muscles cramping (she watched in fascination as the two got entangled again immediately after she was done), and scribbled them a note. With one final caress to Éowyn’s hair and one kiss to Elladan’s forehead she’d left, murmuring an Elven incantation to grant them a peaceful sleep.

It wasn’t much later that Éowyn awoke to find Arwen’s note and the plate of warm cookies she’d sent them from the kitchens. Not even bothering to give him a proper good morning, the fake Aurêl had then proceeded to yank a shirtless Elladan on the floor with a screech. Kneeling behind him, and muttering constantly about how she needed to braid hair if she wanted to concentrate enough to elaborate a new plan, she caught his hair and began to untangle it. Sleepy, but still ready to help, Elladan had submitted, hoping in his heart that they would be able to finally match Arwen and Boromir up – those two had been in love for longer than even he cared to admit, and it pained him to see them so lost.

So far, no luck. The plans they’d come out with were all along the lines of “let’s lock them together in a secluded grotto which has only some provisions and one bed inside”, and not really applicable. Especially because –as Éowyn had pointed out- there were no caves around, unless Moria; but that was just a tad too huge for their plan to work.

“Okay. What do you say, if we go over this one more time?” Elladan moaned, rubbing his forehead. Éowyn nodded, though what good could it be from behind him she was not sure. Luckily Elladan caught her movement in the long mirror sat in front of him.

“So, Boromir is attracted to Arwen.” He began.

“More like ‘in love with’. And she with him.”

“Indeed. Yet they don’t realize it.”

“Not at all. Here.” She handed the brush back to Elladan, and went to weave his hair in that customary, elegant pattern of the Elven nobility. Elladan took the offered brush pensively and waved it around thoughtlessly as he spoke.

“For what Arwen spilled out last night, she believes that he sees her only as a friend. She even fears he could see her as some kind of motherly figure. I wonder where she got such an unholy notio---AI!” Éowyn muttered an apology for having yanked his hair so harshly. 

“From me!” She all but yelled. “Cursed be my mouth!” She heaved a sigh and continued twisting and knotting the Elf’s fine hair.

“From you?”

“Yes… I mean, once I told her that, since she mothered him, it was unlikely that he’d ever see her as a lover.” She glanced up at the mirror, and hunched reflexively under Elladan’s glare.

“Why?”

“…ehm… jealousy?”

“I thought you didn’t love him.”

“I wanted his attention!” Éowyn cried out, exasperated by the Elf’s icy tone. She yanked his hair again in her rush, but he didn’t even flinch -  just kept frowning.

He couldn’t, however, be angry at her for more than one split moment. He knew how much she’d wanted to befriend the only other exponent of her race she’d ever seen. He couldn’t really blame her for trying to gain Boromir’s attention - even if he didn’t approve of the methods.

“Don’t worry, it’s not a problem. We’ll get around it.”

“You’re not angry, then?”

“No, not really.” Éowyn finished braiding his hair, but reaching for some pretty hairclips she’d carried from Mirkwood, began adorning his head with shiny pearls and tiny, glassy flowers.

“Thank you, El.”

“No problem.” A pause. Éowyn didn’t even have time to start *thinking about* smiling that he added: “It’s Elladan, anyway.”

Éowyn sighed. “Whatever. What do we do now?” the Elf shrugged.

“What about, we stop plotting behind their backs and just wait and see what happens?”

Huffing, Éowyn placed both hands on Elladan’s shoulders and pushed hard, so that the poor Elf topple backwards with a yelp, ending up with his head pillowed on her lap. Her eyes squinted and her teeth bared in ominous warning, Éowyn bent above him and put her face level with his - though upside down.

“Don’t you *dare* give up and leave me alone in this, or I’ll pound you to a pulp and feed you to the Orcs.” He opened his mouth. “And do not even try to ask me ‘What Orcs?’” She said, stressing each word slowly. “Or I’ll have to demonstrate.”

Elladan gave another sigh.

“I never said anything of that kind. I’m not giving up. It’s just…” he waved his hand a little, at loss of words. “…aggravating. The way they love each other and yet despair… and not even realizing their *own* feelings!” Éowyn gave a whistling sigh.

“Oh, don’t I know.” She shook her head, and her hair cascaded down, falling like a curtain around their faces, mingling with his own on his chest, and tickling Elladan’s nose annoyingly. Promptly, the Elf reached up to slid some of the stupid strands behind their owner’s ear. Éowyn grinned, making Elladan wonder idly of far could he get from whatever she had in mind, if he bolted. But he had not even enough time to finish his thought, that she shook her head again, her hair sweeping across his the Elf’s face. She took an obscene amount of pleasure in anything that annoyed Elladan, and was positively relishing in the exasperated grumbles he gave as he tried to tuck her hair back into place.

Just at that moment a resounding gasp came from the entrance of the talan. The two turned as one (Elladan having to wipe still more golden hair from his face) towards it. From the entrance, Haldir was watching them as though they had breed each a second head. Éowyn sat back up, while Elladan propped himself up on one elbow.

“What in the name of Elbereth is happening here?” asked the blonde Elf. Éowyn waved him with an air of sufficiency stamped all across her face.

“It’s girl stuff. Nothing you would understand.” Elladan looked up at her with a cross and vaguely hurt look on his face. Then he turned toward an amused and bemused Haldir, and slowly sat up, cross-legged.

“We were just *thinking*.” He pointed, barely aware of the flowers and pearls sprouting from his dark mane like little stars.

“Oh,” Haldir muttered, arms crossed, staring at the Elf with a look that screamed out loud “Now, why don’t I believe you in the slightest?”.

Elladan frowned. Why was Haldir looking at him so? He shrugged - and Éowyn pounced to save one glassy flower-shaped hairclip that had fallen from his hair.

“We were talking.” He said.

“Surely.” Replied the other Elf. Amusedly.

“Thinking.”

“Of course.”

“…counselling.”

“Indeed.”

“…err…plotting…?”

“I’m sure of that.”

“Please, what *exactly* do you want from us, Haldir?” Éowyn cut them both off. She had her back to them, and was walking up to the nightstand to lovingly replace the precious hairclip in its velvety box.

“The Lady Galadriel wishes the Fellowship to share her table in this fine day.” Replied Haldir, one eyebrow raised. “I’m here to tell you that you’re awaited in the-- ”

“Thanks, thanks.” Eowyn waved him away, not even sparing him a glance as she scanned the floor. “We’ll be there at noon.” She straightened after a fruitless search of what seemed like hours (but was closer to a couple of minutes) and cast a glance at Elladan, her hands on her hips. “El, hon, have you seen my shoes?”

“I put them next to the bed after you kicked them off last night. And it’s Elladan, anyway.” Replied the Elf, not even looking up as he too searched for something on the floor.

“Sure thing, hon. Oh! I found ‘hem! Err… now were did I put my earrings…?”

“In the bathroom. My shirt?”

“Oh, I hung it to a branch to dry off. I had to wash it… you know, it got dirty when I pushed you on the ground. By the way, are you still hurt? I wasn’t really gentle.”

“Nay, I can withstand much rougher treatments.”

Something deep inside Haldir’s mind went in a shortcut when the pair said that last couple of lines. Said ‘something’ began to inanely whisper him to ask-ask-ask-ask-damn, I’m curious!-ask, but a bigger portion of his mind decided he “didn’t_really_want_to_know, thank you”. Silencing each question, supposition, suspect and whatever that assaulted his mind (and that he was not sure was polite to conceive) was a difficult procedure, but in the end he managed just well – when he finally tamed his mutinying mind, just a compulsive twitch in his left eyebrow showed.

“Oh! Here is it! Thanks for washing it, Éowyn. It’s my favourite.” Elladan remarked warmly, slipping the silky garment on with the grace of a feline.

“No problem!” Éowyn beamed merrily at him. “You know what, El?”

“Elladan. What?”

“Those flowers really look good on you. I think they just inspired me one very good plan.”

“Which includes me and putting flowers in my hair?”

“Definitely.”

“I’m not sure I’m going to like it.”

“Don’t worry. *This* time things will go smoothly. Trust me, El.”

“Elladan. Do you remember the bad feeling I had last night?”

“Well?”

“It’s increased by tenfold.”

“Oh – I’m sorry… morning sickness already, El-hon?”

“E_L_L_A_D_A_N!”

Not really wanting to hear any more Haldir sauntered away, throwing one hasty “See you later” behind his shoulder. Well, in truth his was more of a warp-speed retreat than a saunter – in fact he even hauled dust as he went and nearly got tangled in the rope-ladder. Once on the ground he slowed to a more acceptable pace, surprised to be panting. He began to steer towards the borders, his eyes almost out of their sockets, to find his brothers and start their patrolling.

He’d seen*Elladan* with a remarkable amount of flowers and gems in his hair.

Double check: a *shirtless* Elladan with a remarkable amount of flowers and gems in his hair.

A shirtless Elladan who stood with his mouth inches from *Éowyn*’s own smiling lips.

Éowyn, who was bent above Elladan, cradling his head in her *lap*.

Elladan, who had his fingers tangled in her *hair*.

…Not to mention that comment she did about being *rough* with Elladan the night before. Ehy, but since Elladan said he could withstand *much rougher* treatments, then it must be all right.

…

…right?

…

After all, if she said she had a plan, then-----No, no, wait just a moment.

There was quite definitely something he was missing, here.

Plan?

Involving Elladan and the flowers in his hair?

Exactly *what* kind of odd stuff had that pair been doin--?

Woah, better leave that train of thoughts! Haldir decided, feeling his face strangely heathen up. Doubling his speed, he ducked his head to stare at his feet as though they were the most interesting thing on Middle Earth. He knew the way to his brothers’ post well enough to avoid mellorn trees and bystanders by using just peripheral vision. And to the records, if he bumped against a couple (dozens) of Elves in his haste, it was all theirs fault. Yeah, that’s right. All theirs. Hm-hm.

* * * * *

The Fellowship, Lascaran and the Hobbits had a surprisingly good time lunching with Celeborn and Galadriel - though something felt distinctly wrong. Dinnertime went on even smoother than lunch - and even odder. Don’t misunderstand me - nothing crazy or even remotely wrong happened during the meals; which is, knowing exactly who participated at this meals, seriously wrong in itself.

Okay, okay, Aragorn and Legolas flirted openly the whole time, feeding each other, stealing kisses with the silly excuse to taste this or that juice presented on the table; and generally being awfully cute, but that’s no news. The shocking part is that Éowyn did not spare them even a glance - she was just too caught up trying to convince dear El-hon to agree to this secret plan of hers. While Elladan was, in turn, too occupied stressing the point that he wouldn’t help her until she told him *exactly* what she had in mind - and reminding her that ‘it was Elladan, anyway’.

Through the whole meal Elladan didn’t pay any attention to Elrohir, who sulked and pouted all along at being ignored by his twin. Come on, someone else’s fiancée shouldn’t be so close to his twin, right? Especially since it’s *his* twin we’re talking about here… that happened to be the cousin of the girl’s fiancé too, now that he thought about it. In his opinion it was bad manners, or something. One can’t possibly steal someone else’s twin’s attentions under their nose, and walk away scot-free. Probably, Elrohir reflected, it wasn’t good to steal someone else’s fiancée’s attentions under their nose either; but hey! He couldn’t really blame Elladan for trying. 

For their part, the Hobbits were too engrossed with food to even talk, and Gandalf had never been one very talkative Man. Well, Wizard. Istar. Whatever. So it left only Arwen and Boromir and Celebron and Galadriel to try and start some conversation. Since each and every of their attempts fell to deaf ears, they soon resolved to just savour the famed Lórien cooking and to star-gaze.

Things went back to normality – I mean, problems began again- after dinner.

Suddenly, one of the Hobbits produced a bottle of liquor and one whole pack of excuses why they should drink it. In the end not only the Hobbits, but some bystander Elves, one Wizard and one Squirrel as well stayed up all night, passing the bottle around *all night*, and singing extremely loudly and off-key. All night. They didn’t shut up until dawn, and it wasn’t until noon that they fell asleep. But what interests us happened way before noon- or dawn, or even midnight. It started when the dinner was over and Boromir left the table to have a walk.

Arwen battled with herself about following him or not, her desire to ease his worries at odds with the though he may want some solitude. She found herself following him in the end, even if she gave him quite some hours of much-needed solitude before allowing herself to look for him. She found him where he always went when in needed of peace.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Arwen asked him as she came up to his side. Boromir nodded. They were inside a small but gorgeous garden, complete with numerous lanterns scattered here and there in the bushes. A clear pond glimmered in the middle of the garden, feeding a series of small bubbling waterfalls. Iridescent colours danced over the silvery water, reflecting the moonlight in a multitude of opalescent hues. Dragonflies floated through the sprays, adding the finishing touch. There, on a small dais before the pond, standing amidst the vines, was the most beautiful stone statue the Elves ever crafted, and the very thing Boromir couldn’t stop gazing at.

It portrayed a beautiful Elven maid; and it was so perfect, with the long hair flowing down the small shoulders, the small lips curved upwards into a gentle smile, that one would expect her to steep forward and greet them. Her hands were in front of her and facing upwards, the slender fingers half curled. Currently, they held one of Boromir’s own hands.

“She’s the loveliest creature I’ve ever seen,” the Man admitted quietly. “Gazing at her smile… I’m not sure how to explain it, but it seems like she’s smiling at me, for me, and it eases my mind, somehow.” There was a moment of silence, Arwen reaching up to move some leaves from the statue’s candid face, and then he turned toward her at last. “It’s kind of presumptuous of me to imagine that Lúthien the Fair, the most beautiful amongst the Fair folk, is smiling only for me. Her smile should be only for Beren her love.” Arwen smiled at him, so similar to Lúthien, her ancestor, that it dazzled him for a moment.

“It’s not presumptuous. It’s a beautiful thing.” Boromir shrugged, taking his hand back from Lúthien’s own, though with no little reluctance.

“More like a childish dream of mine.”

“Dreams are important. It may surprise you, how far dreams can lead a person. Or just how much a dream can reveal to those who can listen to it.”

“Elves. You and your love for riddles.” Boromir remarked warmly. “You’re being mysterious again. ”

“It’s my fault, if Elves are great at that?”

“I’m vaguely tempted to say yes.”

“Ehy!”

She chased him up the bridge, and when she was upon him Boromir swirled, catching her slender wrists. Holding her close he spun her round, delighted to hear her laugh ring clear in the darkness. When he stopped, letting her lean back against him, he was surprised at the wet glisten in her eyes.

“What is on your mind, sweet Arwen?” She shrugged against his chest.

“Things.”

“Well, thank you for being completely vague.” Boromir muttered, rolling his eyes. “Riddles! That’s all I get for my genuine concern. Riddles!” she giggled. Then she whispered softly, so softly he didn’t really catch the words:

“You shouldn’t be so nice with me. It makes everything all the more hard, when saying goodbye is already so--”

“Arwen?”

“Come.” She moved from his chest, and taking his hand in both her slender, delicate elven ones, she began to drag him gently away. “I will have you forget every care that burdens you, tonight. I’ve much to tell you, and so little time…” Boromir laughed.

“Time, Milady? Since when does time bother Elves? We’ve years ahead of ourselves to talk of anything that comes to mind. I’ll enjoy the unwavering beauty of your smile as I grow older and old, while you’ll enjoy watching and naming each new line creasing my face.” She trembled. And if he didn’t knew better he though she heard a sob escape her lips.

“I could never enjoy seeing you fade. Not even if I could be there to see such thing happening.”

Boromir frowned. “What do you mean?”

They’d just reached a lovely spot – a moonlit glade suffused with a silvery gleam – and there they stopped, his hand sliding from hers as Arwen moved to clasp them loosely in front of her. The sound of off-key singing drifted past their ears, causing her to smile slightly. When she turned to face him, her eyes shimmered like starts in the soft light.

“You’re going to Gondor, and there you’ll live your life. Never will we meet again under the mallorn trees of Lórien, or along the fresh Bruinen in my homeland.” The Man looked positively stunned. Never? Never again? But surely… *surely* they would meet now and then! He wasn’t foolish enough to believe she’d remain in Gondor with him, but… but… he’d thought… he’d hoped… he’d… he… he…

“You’re the son of Denethor, Boromir, and the great blood of Nùmenor flows in your veins. You’re of noble birth, and noble is your spirit. You’re going to be the Steward of Gondor, most certainly.” She said softly, and sensing his inner turmoil reached down to take his hand in both of hers. Her touch immediately sedated his fears, made his whole body unwind, his spirits raise some.

“Renech i lu i erui govannem? (Do you remember when we first met?)” she whispered. Boromir was swift to nod. How could he forget? He was just a child of a dozen years when he reached Lothlórien with the honey-smelling burden that was a newborn Aragorn in his arms; yet he would never forget it.

A small Company had set off from Gondor to escort the young heir to Rivendell, where he would live with his elven uncle: Elrond the wise. Among the Company were Boromir and Faramir, children of Denethor - both young, both too precious for the future of Gondor to remain where danger lay. After many days of extenuating march the Company reached the Golden Woods of Lothlórien. There, Elrond himself was waiting for them, and so was the saddest tidings: both the King and the Queen of Gondor had perished.

Little Faramir, along with those soldiers who were in the Company, immediately asked to be sent to the borders and fight. But Boromir couldn’t choose his path. He wanted to fight, to go to the borders and prove his valour, but…

…but the King had entrusted Aragorn to *him* personally, and he would not breach his trust. “Take care of my son,” the King had said. “Protect him young Knight, and guide him until it will be time for him to reclaim the throne.” It was his mission, and he could not forsake it. But Faramir was his beloved brother, and Gondor his home – could he really let them go, even if it was for the greater good?

Lost in thought the young Man began to wander under the mallorn trees, heedless of his path. Then, a sweet voice raised in song reached his ears, relaxing him even as it beckoned him closer. He followed the hauntingly lovely sound into a small glade, green and round, suffused with silvery Moonlight. There he stopped, frozen in place, and then a creature from a dream appeared in front of his eyes – a young Maiden, with her dark hair woven of the night itself and her grey eyes shining like stars. She sang and danced amid the light, her head crowned with stars, with a fresh fragrance about her. He gazed at her in silence, marvelling at her beauty, until she made as if to leave. Panicked, Boromir called for her, not really knowing what he was saying, but just needing to keep her there, with him.

“Tinúviel!” He cried, and was amazed to see her come to him, smiling. Then she spoke to him, and his path became suddenly clear to him – he would protect Aragorn, who the Elves called Estel, and guide the young Prince till he reclaimed his throne; and then he’d stay with this sweet maiden always, forever.

Much, much later Boromir came to know the lay of Beren and Lúthien, and even to this date it still amazed him how much like that legendary Man he’d reacted. At that time he hadn’t known who Lúthien Tinúviel was, nor the legend of her tragic love, nor even the meaning of the Elven word he spoke to keep Arwen from leaving; yet he’d called her Tinúviel, like Beren had done centuries before when he met with his love Lúthien.

Was it fate? A mere coincidence? Or something deeper, more subtle, that he still wasn’t ready to face?

“Nauthannem i ned i ol reniannen.(I thought I had strayed into a dream. )” Boromir whispered back, ridding himself of the memories to focus on Arwen. She cupped his face in one gentle hand, still gazing at him lovingly.

“Gwenwin in enniath. U-arnech in naeth i si celich.(Long years have passed. You did not wear the troubles you carry now.)” her finger slid across his forehead, brushing a strand of dark hair back into place. “Renech i beth i bennen?(“Do you remember what I told you?)”

“You said the time would come for me to go back to Gondor, and there prove my worth. That long after my death they would sing of my life.”

“And this is what will happen.” She sighed. “You’re a noble spirit Boromir, and I know that you’ll prove to be great among Men, and will always be remembered. But first you must go to Gondor, my Knight. Han bâd lîn. (That is your path.)” Boromir exhaled shakily, again facing one decision that made him feel troubled and lost like a child. He still wanted to fight the Dark Lord with his bare hands, wanted to free the world of its fears and pain, but he could not bring himself to forsake the mission his King had given him: he could not leave Estel’s side.

Or –more simply- Arwen.

“Dolen i vâd o nin. (My path is hidden from me.)” he murmured.

“Si peliannen i vâd na dail lîn. Si boe ú-dhannathach.” (It is already laid before your feet, you cannot falter now.)

“Arwen…” she took hold of his hand, and pressed it on his own heart, her hand a warm pressure over his own.

“Ae ú-esteliach nad... estelio han (If you trust nothing else, trust this.)” She whispered. Softly, she laid her head on the Man’s broad shoulder and sighed, eyes closed. Boromir’s heart began to pound.

He did not know what that warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest was, but he quickly decided that he liked it, and that would gladly grow accustomed to an eternity spent feeling it.

Next to Arwen.

“Few know of it,” she said at length. “But I too have the power to see the future, Boromir. Unlike my Grandmother or my Father, I can’t control my power. Visions come to me, unbidden, without me calling them forth. I saw you in the Minas Tirith, acclaimed and loved by your people. I saw it the moment I first touched your hand, so many years ago.”

“R-really?”

“Yes. They loved you in my vision, very much so. Silver trumpets beckoned you home as people cried Estel’s name and then yours, and all were happy. Oh, Boromir! The White tower of Ecthelion is so beautiful… glimmering like a spike of silver, with its banners caught in the morning breeze. There is where your path is leading you.”

Boromir shook his head, then tucked his chin over Arwen’s head, her hair soft and silky against his skin.

“I’ve but a blurred memory of the White Tower. It used to fill my dreams when I was a child.” He confessed with a voice full of awe.

“You will see it again, and again call it home.” She assure softly. Then she snuggled closer, catching him off guard with her action as well that with her words:

“I saw what awaits for us in the last part of our journey, Boromir. They were just fragments, small lights without shape, broken, blurred; but I saw them, nevertheless. And I… I’m scared of what I saw. I’m not ready to face it, for I am selfish, and even as I know you’ll be happy in your homeland, I don’t want to leave you.”

The Knight was about to question her, when Haldir and his two brothers came crashing down into the clearing, looking dishevelled and positively shocked.

“What news from the borders, Haldir?” Boromir hollered, gingerly placing a respectful distance between him and Arwen. The Elf’s eyes flashed dangerously when he turned to look at the Man.

“Orcs! Orcs into the Golden Woods!” He dashed away, leaving Boromir feeling dazzled. When he turned, wanting to usher Arwen away from danger and go with her to inform Estel of the attack, he found that she’d gone.

TBC

Woah! This was longer than the other chapters! =)

On a saddest –so to speak- note, this story is coming to an end.

Next chapter the Company  leaves Lothlórien for the ruins of Edoras, the City where Éowyn was born. From there to Gondor it will take no time at all, and once there… well, we all know what will happen once there. ;)

It’s only three or fours chapters to the end, unless my muses start throwing ideas at me. ^^;;

Uhm… I’m seriously considering to have Aragorn and Legolas discovering the other’s identity only when in the middle of the wedding ceremony. Uhh… I’m not sure…

On a final note – Boromir and Arwen are in love, but while he was enchanted by her since the beginning, she fell for him only later, when he was older… around 25, or something… *looks around* Uhm, well… just thought to make it clear…you know? *blushes*  I’m gonna shut up, now…