Kortirion (kortirion) wrote in tolkien_weekly,

Touch challenge, 'Hand of Fate' : Kortirion

Title: Hand of Fate, a drabble set
Character: A/B
Source: LotR... movie!verse-ish
Rating: Slash implied
Disclaimer: Tolkien's Middle-earth - Our playground

Notes: For ribby's birthday - ok... not the happiest tale. Soor-ree!


His brothers had never really believed him, but from his first ride out to hunt, he’d felt the orc’s presence touch his fea... not their exact whereabouts... but he knew they were there.

‘How?’ they’d asked him, ‘how do you know?’

He had shrugged, ‘I don’t know, I just... feel something is not right - my hands twitch, they know I should grasp my sword,’ he’d said.
The Brothers laughed and joked, ‘we have a new Istar among us!’
He smiled, ducked his head, embarrassed... but by the pricking of his thumb... he knew when something evil would come.


When he’d seen blood on Boromir’s finger, it struck him, why had he never tried the blade? Had he simply assumed it was sharp?

How that red bead shone... like a jewel... how apt!

The man seemed flustered under his gaze; leaving hurriedly… letting the shards of the Dunadan’s inheritance fall. Aragon replaced it with reverence, and sighed.

‘...to be so straightforward, so open - if it needs testing - test it! ...Perhaps he should follow that example...’

Later, much later, Aragon touched a silencing forefinger to his lips... their eyes locked, in a mutual assumption about their immediate future.

Middle finger

It was Aragorn’s habit to test an unfamiliar texture with his middle finger. If he tasted something new, or wiped up a spot of wine – that was his usual finger of touching, exploring... and this night he had much to explore.

The skin stretched taut over a jaw clenched rigid, apprehensive; the soft coarseness of beard... and the lingering, damp-slicked path down the throat... which swallowed convulsively as he touched the hollow at its base - before he transferred the taste of the man’s sweat to his own tongue.

Boromir shuddered, watching him with heavy, half-lidded eyes, imagining further explorations.


Aragorn became increasingly worried as they journeyed, he knew the Ring weighed heavily, and not only on Frodo. After the tragedy of Moria it had been difficult to concentrate, they’d all been touched by Gandalf’s demise, but... now, in Lorien, there were further trials. Lady Galadriel knew his heart, all of it – but remained silent. He almost thought she understood...

Aragorn watched Boromir murmur at his side, fretting in his sleep; saw the man restlessly rub his finger, feeling for a ring that wasn’t there... and never would be... He sighed, chiding himself for fond imaginings. Duty comes before love.

Little finger

He’d been in the woods above when he felt the familiar sensation in his thumbs... but... not orcs alone; something... was not right. He ran; he heard shouts, and his hand urged him to seize his sword.

Too late.

Boromir’s chest heaved; shining blood pooled around Aragorn’s little finger, seeping warmly under his palm. Boromir tried to smile at his touch, spoke his affirmation, his hand desperately clutching Aragorn’s shoulder as if clutching life itself – to no avail.

Then he was gone.

Aragorn kept the moment – knowing himself in the hand of Fate – wishing the Valar’s touch had fallen elsewhere.
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