Characters: Boromir/Théodred, Aragorn
Rating: PG-13 – non-graphic slash
Disclaimer: Tolkien’s... or maybe more Fran and Philippa’s!
The Shortest Night
It was sultry at midday, balmy long after sunset, now, blazing passions spent, the midnight breeze cooled bare limbs, entangled in the remains of love’s embrace. Tonight was the shortest of the year, celebrated in Rohan with bonfires, feasting, songs... and couplings ...At least, Théodred had assured him that not to... would insult solstice custom. And Boromir couldn’t condone that!
They’d celebrated with enthusiasm, maybe not with youth’s urgency, but... expertise and tender skills meant this cup could be drained fully, not merely sipped.
“I would this night could last forever,” breathed Théodred into Boromir’s neck.
“Our memories are everlasting.”
The Longest Night
It was cool all day, growing chill with the early sunset; a clear, pale sky boded for a cold night, the longest of the year. Boromir shifted restlessly in his bed, he was cold... untrue... the bed was warm enough, but it gave him no comfort. The elves of Rivendell had provided a night-shirt, even a robe...
He fumbled to light a taper, rising to find his cloak, pulling it around him, but unease was still a cold stone in his belly; touching himself only brought memories of the last hand that had... Théodred’s.
Would this everlasting night never end?
Midwinter Solstice Night
Aragorn paced the corridors restlessly. Elves found rest differently than men, but he could not compose his thoughts, nor sleep. Solstice... the fires had been built high in Rivendell, wine poured, songs sung... and all he could feel was the chill from the proud captain. It drew him, and it shouldn’t, not here... not now... but in this man he saw shades of Halbarad... strength, courage, fire... passion - and maybe that understanding that a warrior’s experiences give...
He forced his memory to last Midsummer’s solstice, back to sunshine, archery-contests, wrestling... the last time they...
No! ...I would this night might end!
Midwinter Solstice Midnight... and beyond
Unwittingly, his feet had found their way to Boromir’s door; a dim glow showed beneath. He paused... stared down at the thin line of light, a line that widened abruptly. The two started, neither thought to see the other.
“I... was cold.”
“I...” Aragorn glanced at the bottle he carried, “...was thirsty.”
“Would you...?” Aragorn raised the wine.
Boromir swallowed, nodded curtly and turned back, Aragorn followed.
They shared the bottle... then another. They talked softly, with increasingly wine-loosened tongues... eventually sharing bed, cloak... but not each other... not yet.
This longest night held too many everlasting memories.