Not really a fic

[moldava]

This is not a fic proper but more the rewriting of a scene between Boromir and Aragorn. It's flawed, cause to make the point I wanted to make I had to base it on an inconsistency *g*



Title: First blood
Author: moldava
Pairing: A/B
Rating: G
Disclaimer: they're not mine, regretfully


Boromir cursed softly and let the broken sword fall to the round with a clatter that felt too loud in the quiteness of the elven hall.

He watched the blood well from the cut, a deep ruby red, the only thing that seemed alive in the gray shadows shrouding this place.

Seek for the Sword that was broken
In Imladris it dwells

So this was the sword he'd been sent to find...
Still the meaning of the riddle that had come to him and to Faramir in a dream remained veiled, hidden from him. The shards of the sword were here, but who would make it whole again? Who would wield it?
And now it had his blood on it... Could this be a sign?

He tensed, feeling someone step behind him.
A hand reached for his wrist, rough fingers closing around it, their grip strong and gentle at the same time.

Boromir spun and found himself facing a dark-haired stranger whose blue eyes held him trapped as the man brought Boromir's finger to his lips and took it in his mouth, cleaning the welling blood and soothing the small sting with the wet warmth of his tongue.

It felt weird, excitingly so... and when the stranger allowed the finger to slip from his mouth, Boromir seemed almost reluctant to break the contact, the loss of it making him feel inexplicably cold and alone.

"You're the first to spill blood on this quest," the stranger murmured in a low voice that made Boromir want to lean closer. "I wish this hadn't happened..."

"It's only a nick....” Boromir's tone mixed curiousity and reassurance, he shrugged and smiled at the stranger. "I've had so many.. it's just one more.. Barely worth noticing.." he watched for a moment the stranger, who was staring as if transfixed at the broken sword, stained with Boromir's dark red blood.

Suddenly Boromir found himself strangely unsettled by the whole exchange. With a muttered apology to the dark-haired man he turned and left the hall to seek the solitude of his chamber.

Aragorn bent down to pick up the broken sword from the ground and settle it back on the dais.
A fingertip traced the blade, right where it had cut Boromir's hand, then pressed into it. He watched as his blood run and mixed with the Gondorian's.
But he knew it was too late already, the sign had been clear to him.

First blood...