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Her eyes unnerved Boromir.
As the Fellowship stood before the Elf Queen, her gaze pierced his soul, laying bare all his secrets. She saw his temptations, his desires, his needs. Her voice was in his head, telling him of his father, whispering of the dark times ahead, and he shuddered, unable to quell a gasp for breath. Her voice softened then, and she told him there was still hope for him, hope for his soul if he could resist the temptation of the Ring. There was hope yet for Gondor, too.
Yet this promise of hope amid so much loss and pain offered him little solace. Even once he was away from her presence, her words continued to echo in his heart. He had spoken truly to Aragorn -- he would find no rest in this place, and he remained awake long after the others had fallen asleep.
Boromir watched as Frodo wandered away and then returned, his face streaked with tears. For long minutes, he listened to the Halfling's quiet sobs of grief for the loss of Gandalf and his despair for completing the task before them. He wished he could help Frodo, but knew he could not.
Finally, Frodo became silent as he drifted into sleep, and Boromir rose. He was frightened of her, yet drawn like a moth to a flame. He followed Frodo's path to the basin where the Queen waited.
Her back was turned as she filled a large pitcher full of water. "I knew you would come, Boromir, son of Denethor," she said.
He said nothing, but lifted his gaze to meet hers, steeling himself against the fear he felt.
"You wish to look into the Mirror," she said.
Did he? Would it help, or make matters worse? His nod seemed to come without volition, and the Queen lifted the pitcher and poured the water into the basin. The water flowed silently, as if it had no weight, no volume. Almost shaking, he leaned forward, and at first saw only his own reflection. Just as he was about to step back, the images began. He saw himself arguing with his father about the trip to Rivendell, Faramir wishing him farewell, his long journey north, and his arrival at the House of Elrond. He saw the Council meeting, the Ring upon the stone, his dismissal of Aragorn. The flashes came more quickly now, one upon the other -- the Ring around Frodo's neck, the Ring in the snow, and the expressions on Frodo's and Aragorn's faces when he handed back the Ring.
Then the pool of water rippled, and what he saw was unfamiliar and horrible. Minas Tirith was burning, orcs and trolls rampaging through the streets, killing soldiers and civilians without mercy. He saw his brother's body punctured with arrow wounds, his father standing on a pyre pouring oil on himself, and then flames, flames everywhere. He saw himself running up a hill, and arrows were flying, and then he lay on the forest floor, gasping for breath, shuddering in pain...and then his pale, gray body was in a narrow boat, floating down the river, barely disturbing the water. He staggered back as the mirror darkened again, his terrified eyes meeting the Queen's placid gaze...
~~~~~~~
"Faramir! Faramir!"
He awoke with a sharp gasp, sitting straight up, in a panic until he realized where he was and who was beside him.
"Shh...it was a nightmare, it's over now." With a gentle hand against his shoulder, Aragorn eased him back onto the soft pillows, and he breathed deeply, trying to collect himself, to shake off the fear and dread.
Vivid and unsettling dreams had haunted Faramir since his youth, but the terrifying nightmares had only begun after the War. Although they had become less frequent with time, they had never disappeared completely. Most often, the nightmares were of the time from which he had no conscious memory, between the attempt to retake Osgiliath and the moment he had awoken in the Houses of Healing, staring into Aragorn's eyes. But this one had been so very different...
He turned towards Aragorn. "I'm sorry I woke you."
"Nonsense," he said. "It is no fault of yours, and there is no need to apologize." He moved his hand gently over Faramir's arm and shoulder, offering only comfort. "Do you wish to speak of it?" he asked.
Faramir felt himself relax somewhat, grateful for Aragorn's calm understanding. "I saw Boromir, in Lothlórien, during your journey with the Fellowship," he said. "He was looking into the Lady's mirror, and saw his own death, his body on the river." He looked at Aragorn, the unspoken question on his lips.
Aragorn shook his head. "I know not if what you saw was a vision of the past, or merely a dream. Boromir never told me he gazed into the mirror, and neither did she. But that does not mean it did not happen." He smoothed rumpled hair from Faramir's forehead, gently combing it through his fingers. "I am sorry I cannot tell you more."
Faramir saw his own sorrow reflected in Aragorn's eyes. "That he saw his own death, that he could do nothing to prevent it from happening...it is almost too terrible to bear."
Taking Faramir's hand in his own, squeezing it gently, Aragorn said, "I think that even if Boromir had known death awaited him on that hill, he would have gone nonetheless, to protect the hobbits."
Faramir nodded. Boromir would have been bound by his honor to protect those under his charge, regardless of the danger. He would have done so even if had he not felt the need to repent after trying to take the Ring from Frodo. The terrible weight of that act would only have driven him more desperately to redeem himself.
Yet he hoped his dream had been only that, for no man deserved to see a vision of his own death. He would eventually have to reconcile himself to never knowing the truth. But for the moment, the rush of energy he had felt after the nightmare had passed, and with Aragorn's comforting presence beside him, he felt weary once again.
"We should sleep," he said.
"We should," Aragorn said, allowing Faramir to lay the nightmare to rest. "After all, the ladies return tomorrow, and they might wish us to be...well-rested." He lifted an eyebrow and smiled mischievously, then laid feather-light kisses on Faramir's forehead, eyes, and lips.
Faramir smiled, returning the last kiss with a deeper one. They were truly fortunate men, to have wives who not only understood their relationship but shared it. The love and passion between the four of them was a tangible thing, a presence that could not be denied, and it had only deepened with time.
But for tonight, it was only he and Aragorn, and Faramir savored that as well. He drew a deep breath, inhaling Aragorn's scent, willing the darkness of the past away as he drew Aragorn's body against his own and closed his eyes.
~ end ~