.|. Radical Dreamers .|.

Chapter 1

~

“I don’t think that would be wise Est—I mean, your Majesty.” Unluckily for him, Boromir’s audience was giving him less than little attention. Aragorn was too busy checking his equipment to offer more than the distracted wave of one hand, and his stallion was too busy drooling over the apple Aragorn had took a bite of to even glance up. Not that Boromir would have cared to gain the beast’s attention, anyway.

The horse seemed needing to get some attention himself, though, and whined loudly, skidding his front hoofs on the ground repeatedly. Aragorn glanced up. Boromir did the same, seeming affronted at the interruption. The horse ignored him, crunching on the apple he had gained from his master instead.

With a small chuckle the prince rose to his feet, fingering the handle of Andùril in his hand, gazing at the horizon with lost eyes. Then he turned and, released the weapon, slung the saddle over the horse’s back and began fastening the straps; all in one fast, fluid motion.

“It’s the best solution, Boromir.” He offered calmly, fishing for something in his bag.

The older man pressed a hand to his forehead, exasperation clear even in this little gesture. Aragorn’s horse whined again: he’d run out of apples.

“Send our Prince ALONE and UNPROTECTED to *Mirkwood* is the best solution?” The Prince shrugged, frowning at the lack of athelas he found in his bag.

“I won’t be alone, Elladan and Elrohir insisted to come with me. And I doubt I’ll be able to leave Gandalf behind, also – you know him.”

“As I know you!” Boromir hollered, pacing swiftly after his Prince as the other Man made his way to a large chest and retrieved some small leather sacks from it. He stared hard at the Prince’s back as he rummaged through the different sacks in search of the herbs he wished to carry with him.

“Surely you agree with me,” Boromir said softly, hoping against hope good manners would prevail the Prince’s stubbornness. “When I say that two Elves and one Wizard can’t be enough of an escort for both the Heirs of Mirkwood and Gondor. Orcs swarm in the woods of the Elven Realm more numerous than ants and more dangerous than cataclysms!!” Aragorn rose to his feet with a triumphant expression on his face, clutching a small reddish sack to his chest. It exuded an indefinable fragrance, strong and sweet at the same time, and Boromir felt his shoulders unwind as the relaxing essence of the athelas filled his nostrils.

“And you surely agree with me,” Aragorn told him just as softly, “When I say that we can’t let someone as precious as the Heir of Mirkwood dwell in such a dangerous place anymore.” Boromir snapped out of the blissful lethargy the athelas had put him in, wondering briefly if Aragorn had been using the herb on him on purpose, and stepped closer to the younger man, gesturing wildly.

“Wouldn’t it be better then, your Majesty, to send a larger group of soldiers? It would take your uncle the Lord Elrond only a week to organize it and—“

“It would take my uncle a week too much, then.” Aragorn strode back to where his stallion was with what seemed annoyance – plan “athelas” had backfired, it seemed: Boromir was still trying to stop him.

“War has been raging through Middle Earth for more than we can remember. A shadow is growing in the East, and the sleeping menace of the Dark Lord becomes more and more substantial with each passing day.” He plunged the sack of athelas into his bag and patted the beast once. He then strode to where his rest of his equipment was, actually ducking under Boromir’s outstretched arm to get past him. “Elves and Humans are the last beacons remained on Middle-Earth, but they don’t trust each other, and the other free races won’t follow our lead if we’re not united. As the only heir of Gondor it is my duty to reunite these two kin, and a marriage between me and the heir of Thranduil –as my uncle suggested- is the best solution.” he strode back to his stallion, hoisting his other bags, sleeping blanket and flask of water over the beast’s back with growing annoyance.

Boromir stiffened at the mentioning of said marriage. The muscles of his throat worked soundly and he rubbed the stubble on his chin, feigning an indifference he did not feel deep inside.

“About that, your Majesty…”

“Don’t call me that,” Aragorn warned lowly, fastening the straps of a last bag with force. “While travelling the wild I’m back to being Strider, the Chieftain of Dùnedains, do not forget it.” The stallion sensed his master’s annoyance and whined, glancing murderously at Boromir, but the Man remained blissfully oblivious.

“Strider then.” He swallowed again. “About the Heir of Mirkwood… if you had remained at the Council long enough to listen to all that your Uncle had to say about it-” Aragorn whirled around, and paced toward a nearby table where his bow and a quiver of black arrows waited for him.

“I know, I know.” Aragorn hushed the other man swiftly, waving a hand to his general direction. “You want to tell me I should not marry someone for duty, don’t you? But my happiness is such a small thing when compared to the safety of Middle Earth.” He absently slipped the weapons on his back, dusting his tunic off when he was done. “Then again, my uncle said my future bride is more than beautiful. No words can describe Thranduil’s heir, the Aurêl, beautiful Morning Star of Mirkwood, he said. But he spoke about unique eyes as blue as summer skies and hair like spun gold – I guess I may grow to love her in the end.” Boromir winced again, something he’d done often since Aragorn had leaped from his seat during the council Elrond was (still) holding, and had all but dashed to where his stallion was, babbling about going to retrieve his spouse. If Aragorn had noticed his personal bodyguard and closest friend hurrying after him and shouting about something he had to tell him about his future spouse... well, he’d hid it well.

“Well, like I was saying… the Morning Star is not…” Aragorn nodded again and paced back to his stallion’s side, Boromir hot on his tracks. The beast whined loudly when Aragorn patted his nuzzle affectionately, and shook his head up and down in his appreciation, his dark mane waving in the misty morning light.

“…aware that we’re to be married, I know. I guess you want to tell me I should know her better before trusting her with my heart – I will take your counsel Boromir!” He exclaimed, whirling around yet again and clasping his friend’s shoulder in a warm gesture. “That’s why I’ll introduce myself as a mere Ranger and not as her future husband.” He seized the occasion to grab the dagger Boromir wore at his side, and slipped it in the empty scabbard strapped around his own leg. “This might prove clever indeed, if not prudent. Thanks my friend, such a bright idea it is!” Boromir gaped after his Prince as he swung onto the saddle, seized the reins and galloped toward the blooming day without much of a word to him.

And to think that Lord Elrond had been most surely *jesting* when he’d mentioned Aragorn’s marriage! Boromir scratched the back of his head. At least he thought he had. For, let’s face it, how would they have heirs? Okay, okay, he conceded they could try (Boromir shuddered lightly at the thought) but to succeed was a different thing! A completely different thing! Downright different! Utterly different! Lock stock and barrel different! After all, the Heir of Mirkwood was…

A barely contained ripple of laughter roused the Man from his momentarily paralysis. He turned, an eyebrow raised in inquiry, and as he did he found himself gazing at the sweet face of Lady Arwen, her smiling mouth covered politely behind a slender, pale hand.

“So,” she said between giggles. “My little cousin believes Legolas to be a maiden?” Boromir shook his head, his mood dangling between exasperation and amusement, and let himself slump into a nearby chair.

“He didn’t listen enough of what your Lord Father had to say at the council to even *know* that the name of the Morning Star *is* Legolas. Let alone enough to know of his gender.” The Elven Lady laughed again, softly. Despite himself Boromir beamed up at her, Undomiêl the Evening Star; the Lady he had sworn to protect along with his Prince.

“Are you going to follow him?” she inquired with a smile, eyes half-lidded and shining.

“I must.” He shrugged. “Even if I often wonder if I’m paid enough for such tasks.” She laughed again, the clearest, loveliest sound the Man would ever hear.

“Foolish man,” she chided gently. Then she shook her head, lost in some old reverie of hers, and stood motionless for a moment. Boromir’s smile wavered as ancient pain filled the Elf’s eyes, and was about to stood and reach for her when Arwen suddenly moved. She looked up swiftly, and the smile that spread across her lips might have seem only slightly amused, had it not been for the flash of sheer delight in her wide eyes. Boromir began to wonder if he shouldn’t start worrying. Then she clapped her hands, resembling very much a child set to misbehave and to make sure to live through it unpunished, and the Man realized he *was* worried.

Period.

“Aragorn goes to meet a shy Lady and is finding a stubborn warrior.” Arwen said, cocking her head to a side with a widening smile. “This might prove to be interesting- I’ll follow him!” and then disappeared back into the Castle. The Man scampered to his feet, a hand stretched out toward her retreating form as she skidded trough the grey shadows and disappeared from view, all but shouting to a passing servant to ready her journey clothes.

Again Boromir was left speechless, torn between running after his Prince or after his Lady, already knowing each solution would not change the outcome of the day. He hid his face in one broad, callous hand, feeling an headache approaching, and readied himself mentally for the quest they were to start.

When he moved at last, walking toward his own stallion dejectedly, he wondered how much offence the Lord Elrond would take if he quitted his job – too many emotions, too may headaches: he wasn’t going to live them down. Oh, no…

Maybe he should seriously consider Éomer’s offer to go and guard the borders with him and his brother. After all, what are billion packs of Orcs and one Dark Lord when compared to Aragorn and Arwen?

TBC

I hope you found this interesting. *grins* It’s so fun to write! And I have such wicked ideas for the next chapters!! ^_^ *chuckles* Boromir’s always-impending headache is *so* going to worsen…