sonxofxgondor

[sonxofxgondor]

[sonxofxgondor]

                    Whatever role we are loved for in our family,                     we will continue to enact it,                     despite the toll it takes.

[sonxofxgondor]

You’re in the service of the Steward now; you’re going to have to do as you’re told, Peregrin Took.

[sonxofxgondor]

GRAPHIC/GIFSET TAG MEME: favourite member of the fellowship ↳ tagging @lotrlorien & @frodo-baggins ♥

[sonxofxgondor]

Boromir at the Council of Elrond THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING (2001) dir. Peter Jackson

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Permission granted to stand again, the sign that the cutting of hair was over, the loose cloth around Boromir's shoulders was lifted. Littered with pieces of brown locks, the careful considerations of an experienced barber's style. Made anew, beside scissors and combs, bottles of rose water and massaging oils, tools cleaned and stored with great mind into a leather tote. Aged by years only, its stitching just as perfect as the day it was gifted, the special token of affection that Boromir had chosen so long before. After the first time that the elder had come to tidy his head; a present picked with Finduilas, from a trader who had come from the southern region, renowned for their work in leathercraft and gemstone necklaces. A bag that was highly valued, the cost in coins the largest number that Boromir had come to hear by then, well worth the expense when the expression upon the barber's face could be seen. A soft smile that betrayed the overall seriousness of his person, the reveal that the man was not entirely made of hardened stone. A tender embrace of their hands together; stretching his arms overhead, flexing his legs and feet, Boromir had not forgotten that moment. It was a cherished memory.

Finally comfortable after having been seated for so many minutes, Boromir made haste in taking Thera into his arms. Grasped her hands between his own, brought them to his lips in gentle kiss. A closed mouth smile on his face; a warmth in his belly, always so when around her.

"Very good!" Boromir replied, unable to let her go just yet, his attention shared between Thera and his old friend. "I don't ever want to look unsightly for you, my love. I will allow only my best self for you. Oh! Thank you, my good man! As always, do stay and enjoy yourself. I'll not have you leave the grounds so soon without a proper meal to fill your stomach! Go on! Cook has prepared a delicious stew for lunch. Please, relax! I'll only be a moment. There are a few important matters that I would like to discuss with my dearest, privately."

A courteous nod and bow, the friendly rise of a hand in parting, the barber abandoned Boromir to his wishes, to the supposed task that had taken up so much of his thoughts. Closed the chamber doors behind him, a bellowing sound, footsteps faded away.

A pleased sigh breathed into the quiet, Boromir returned to Thera, his fingers playing with hers in the delicate hold.

"There was a reason, you know, why I shared with him stories of our trip." Boromir began. "Well, more than just in the good nature of sharing between old friends. Thera, darling, I have gotten word that the particulars of our relationship have become court intrigue. Spread from town to town, city to city. Glorious rumors, though oftentimes more ludicrous than actual reality! Harmless, too, I suppose, but nonetheless rumors. I... I didn't want him to hear of our holiday together from someone else, to have him believe a story that was not entirely true. You know I care not what others have to say. Not when it really matters, but still... are you happy? Genuinely and truly happy?"

A shy pitch to his voice, Boromir admitted, "when we were in that little town, a young girl asked me if you were my bride. Wondered why you and I wore not wedding bands, where our children were and if she would be allowed to play with them. I answered her as best I could. I told her, no, we were not married, we did not have children together, but that I loved you. That I loved you so deeply. But the look upon her face, Thera! She couldn't understand. She knew not how a man who could adore a woman so much not be married to her. And in all honesty, neither can I, not then and not from the moment I first laid eyes on you."

"Thera, beloved, I think we should do it. We should be married. Not because we have to, but because of our love for one another, because we want to. I can have no secrets from you nor hide them well. You know that it has always been my dream, to be a husband, to be a father. I can think of no better happiness than to be such to you, to our family. There's none other I could want, Thera. None."

[ @sonxofxgondor ]

In her time as a Healer, Thera had learned as thing or two about body-language. Not just the way someone looked, held themselves, fidgeted or curled away - less obvious than that, far more essence than observation. Primarily, it was when they were about to suddenly move, or speak. In some people silence simmered, bubbled, built up the pressure until it was either released or they popped.

This was not always a bad thing, for either party, excitement and cheerful chatter was often preferable to silent misery. It was mostly the fact that few people could pop without also turning toward the person they spoke to, and when that person had a blade of some kind close to their face or ear ...

She could see both going on here, in the otherwise quiet and sunlit haven of the Steward Prince's chambers - Boromir bubbling and his ageing barber ... not on edge but aware, reading his long-time charge in the same way Thera did her patients. It was familiar enough to be amusing, the occasional glance shared between them as the man withdrew, always a second before another impulsive tale was begun.

"It was a delight," She confirmed, and it was no less than the truth; one of the larger villages, nudging the size of a town but not yet city, for caution of keeping tilled fields open enough for livestock and crops. "We were very much welcomed."

Very much gossiped upon, an aside she kept gently behind a knowing smile. Her face was perhaps as well known as Boromir's, or even more so from the times she had visited in her work rather than leisure, and their arrival had been a cause of much excitement - not only among those who stood to earn coin for providing food or lodging.

"Of course you are," She returned fondly, suspecting she may have seen a small roll of the barber's eyes, "He's made sure to keep it rather than make you grow it again!"

[sonxofxgondor]

[sonxofxgondor]

one gifset per character

↬ Samwise Gamgee

[sonxofxgondor]

middle-earth meme | [½] hobbits → frodo baggins

“I will take the Ring,” he said, “though I do not know the way.”

[sonxofxgondor]

[sonxofxgondor]

Veiled by the darkness of curtained windows, velvet drawn across arches that separated the outside world and the in, wandering to Faramir's chambers to murmur promises was a routine that Boromir had believed to be secret. A private scheme that only he knew about, attempted to practice and implement like a spymaster, dressed in black robe and bare feet. Delicate as he walked the marble tile, crept as though he were the greatest of hunters, until he reached the bedside of that beloved little brother. Brushed Faramir's hair and caressed his cheek, watched over him in both awe and silent envy. Jealousy that amounted to nothing more than personal encouragement; to be the best soldier, the best son, the best brother. Worried for him like a mother and father, Boromir troubled by the pains that Faramir's gentle heart carried. Deserved not the life he was given, boyhood stolen away every second, every day. Boromir desperate to return what had been taken, if only for a short while, sacred vows whispered into Faramir's ear, sealed with the softest of kisses to the temple. A tender squeeze of the hand, embraced by Boromir's larger two, what Denethor had not in spirit, in paternal verve. Shocked to have had his sly plot exposed, voiced aloud and before a crowd of seabirds and green crustaceans, red brightened Boromir's cheeks, the curve of his neck. What was more than the burn of the hot sun - unable to hide the truth, a simple nod of the head in acknowledgement, fingers quick to fidget with his bag and reveal his collected treasure, a timid smile.

Skin still warmed by Faramir's sweet touch, the lingering sensation of fingertips and thumbpads, the beginnings of war-learned but ever so steeped in children's play, the blue shell was presented proudly. Cupped within Boromir's grasp, coated by only the smallest of sand bits, the memories of the ocean and home. Cleaned by Boromir to the best of his ability, the swipe of fingers to its ridges, the sole gift that was worthy of Faramir. Unchipped, perfect in all ways, something beautiful and unique. Without word, the shell was handed over and watched, its receiver regarded with model focus. Sharp, eyes keen, awaiting for a response that would deliver the verdict. Final judgement; Boromir hoped that Faramir would like it. Incomparable to fine gold or silver, silk clothes or leather shoes, the gifts offered by visiting dignitaries and haughty nobles. Boon that befitted a steward-prince, someone of importance, a boy who would become a legend in due time. Destined, Boromir would have given Faramir the world if only he asked. More than carapace. More than what was understood by mortal measure, love that was endless, love that would outlast them both. Desperate to make him happy, Boromir turned away to keep his gaze from becoming wet, tears sprouted. Accepted that death would be welcomed for Faramir's sake, that life would be used to keep him protected, always; the white waters eager to reach their toes, inching ever closer to the rest spot.

"It was laying just there near the path we came." Boromir explained, coughed to clear his throat, suddenly tight and restricted. "Perfectly placed, as though it were waiting for one of us to pick it up. It reminded me of your eyes. It reminded me of you. So blue, so very pretty; I thought you might put it upon your bookshelf. Display it amongst your stories. But isn't it so sturdy, Little Brother? Just look at its shape, how it's held no bumps nor carried any scratches! Imagine the many miles it has endured before we ever came to find it. And still, it has not changed, is ever beautiful and wonderful!"

Capturing Faramir's shoulders by the length of his arm, an embrace come from the side, Boromir pulled him close, nuzzled the top of his fair hairs, breathed his scent. Redolence of home, courage and honor, friendship that would defeat even death, the bond of two brothers.

"Perhaps you can use it to remember me by. Whenever father sends me away on campaign, whenever I am away from you, you can just look to that little shell and know that I am there. You can remember us and our time together. Our time spent here on this quiet beach. Oh, Faramir! I shall never forget this day! I will remember it always, even when I am old and gray and cannot stand. An elderly man confined to his bed; I'll think back to this moment, back to you, back to this happiest of memories! Little Brother, this day will fondly live within my mind forever. I would not trade places with anyone else, you know. Not ever. Not for all the riches of the world!"

Faramir blinked once, then again, as though the wind had brought salt to his eyes – but it was not the wind, and he was not weeping. It was merely the way light struck the surf, glancing off the water. It was all the love that was too big to hold inside his chest.

His brother’s touch lingered, warm on his cheek, and he leaned into it without shame. The caress of Boromir’s fingers behind his ear made his lip twitch into a smile. A soundless thing, a yearning curled inwards like the tight fist of a child too afraid to open it.

Boromir’s words rang in him, filled the hollows where doubt had long made its bed – soft words, but heavy, like wet cloth. They pressed against his ribs and made it hard to breathe, not from pain, but from the relief of being seen and known and loved.

“You always say such things as though you know them,” Faramir said at last, voice quiet, only just rising above the drawl of the sea waves. “But I…” His hands curled in the sand. “I only hope them.”

He looked at Boromir then – tanned from the sun, grainy with salt and sand, noble as any painting in the Hall of Kings. There was a boyishness in him here, shoulders freed from duty, hair stirred by the breeze. His eyes were older, though. Worn thin by things a child ought never to bear. Loss. Oaths. The ghost of a woman who died too soon.

Faramir reached out and touched his brother’s hand, turning it palm up between his own. The calluses were familiar now, sword-hand and shield-hand both. They had once held him, small and soft, in the crook of the elder’s arm.

“I hold the same pride for you that Father does,” he said. “If there is only so much love to go around, I am glad it goes to you.”

A pause. Then something gentler stirred in him, as though a tide were changing.

“I find myself curious about this treasure,” he said, suddenly shy, as though some younger self had stepped forward in his place – all damp hems and salt-stung knees. “Perhaps it will help me forget myself for a while… and you’ve sworn it does not bite. Which is more grace than I was shown by the little green crab who made a gallant charge at my foot. I cannot say I blame him. To his tidepool realm, we must seem like giants.”

He smiled, his solemn eyes softening.

“You have kept every promise you ever made me, Boromir. Even the ones you whispered when you thought I was asleep.”

He let go of the hand and sat straighter, brushed the sand from his thighs with delicate, absent movements. There was a flush to his cheeks now, something returning, like colour to a page long faded.

“Go on then, show me what you found.”

Although he did not say it aloud, not yet, what he meant was thank you. For seeing him. For loving where others could not.

[sonxofxgondor]

"Our people... our people... I would have followed you, my brother. My captain. My king."

Sean Bean as Boromir in The Lord of The Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (2001)

[sonxofxgondor]

                                    i thought i could be like those heroes

[sonxofxgondor]

SEAN BEAN as RICHARD SHARPE Sharpe’s Mission

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Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?……………                                                             …………….That is the only time a man can be brave. 

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