||[Jun. 19th, 2003|10:52 pm]
Title: Pale Light, Black Arrow|
Pairing: None. Features Aragorn and Boromir.
“I dreamed again last night”, Boromir says abruptly, one evening in Lorien.
And Aragorn looks up, sharply, knowing that Boromir is a son of Gondor and more, has the blood of Numenor in his veins, and that his dreams have been portents in the past.
“What did you dream?” he asks, deceptively softly, for Boromir can hear the hard edge to his words, and knows that Aragorn is aware of the import of this news.
“Scattered images, nothing more. A forest, an arrow. Blood – both red and black. And a feeling, laid over all. I will not see the White Tower again.”
“Are you saying that you dreamed of your own death?”
“I know not. Perhaps. Or perhaps it is simply that I will wander, after this Quest, until my end comes. But I will never return to my city, that much I know.”
“Are you certain this was a true dream? Could it not merely have been born of your fear and doubt?”
“It may be so”, Boromir concedes. “But I think not. The feeling has been growing in my heart that my path will not lead me home.”
Aragorn bows his head in sorrow. He was hoping to lead all the Company safely through the dangers that await them, but if Boromir is speaking true, that will not come to pass.
“Think not on it, Boromir, if that is possible. For dwelling on such dark dreams will do no good, and may bring your death sooner than might otherwise have been. Try to forget what you saw, and bend your thoughts to the task at hand. Sleep now, and we will talk more of this in the morning, if you wish.”
The two Men go to their sleeping places, and do not speak again of Boromir’s premonition. But some days later, on the banks of Anduin, Aragorn remembers, and understands.
I really like your icon.
I really like this fic.
The two seem to go together, in more ways than one.
Don't know whether to giggle or cry.
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