Character: Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli
Rating: G – angst
Source: FotR – ish
Disclaimer: Tolkien created Middle-earth – Kortirion merely plays with the pretties.
Under his hand Boromir’s chest formed a perfectly level plane, neither rising nor falling, no life or heat there, only dark stains of loss. Aragorn had planted a last kiss on a brow still warm, he could not bring himself to touch beloved flesh and find it cold.
Gimli prepared him, combed his hair, pulled clothing into seemly order; it was not much, but it seemed the least they could do was see him depart this plane of existence in a manner appropriate to his worth.
They placed him carefully in the grey boat, and let the river take him.
Title: Under His Hand: VI
Character: Ulmo, Boromir
Disclaimer: Tolkien created Middle-earth – Kortirion sighs at the margins.
Under his hand, Ulmo guided the tiny craft, keeping it level and true. They had given Boromir to the waters and the waters would keep him, shroud him in light, and protect him. Ulmo had made the man’s brother dream of lapping water, until he woke and came to the river in time to see the grey boat glide past.
Safe as the swan-ships of old, the smoothed timbers held him cradled down river to the sea. Now Boromir sailed the plane of the ocean, charted not with parallels and meridians, but with age old yearning towards the Far West.
Title: Under His Hand: VII
Character: Boromir, and others
Disclaimer: Tolkien created Middle-earth – Kortirion sighs at the margins
Notes: Final one! I set myself the challenge of writing seven, all begining with the same phrase and using as many homonyms as possible, to form one story.
Under his hand the silvery wood was polished far smoother than any plane could make it. It was his habit to absently rub the wood beneath his palms as he watched. The grey boat sat high on the white strand, giving a good view back... to where, he couldn’t quite remember, but he choose to wait.
A shipwright had come and told him with pride he had made this boat. Another elf had greeted him joyfully; as the dwarf at his side wept and punched Boromir’s arms.
Boromir waited for another’s touch, another’s greeting... eventually he’d come... he knew it.