The games we play|
Rating : G
No summary given
Aragorn made his way along the white corridor, swiftly towards his destination. He followed the curve of the building that grew increasingly darker toward his office.
“Gil,” a voice yelled out, startling Aragorn, “Thorongil, by the Valar, I thought you would never answer me,” It was Denethor, son of Ecthelion, speaking, the steward’s heir, His steward’s heir.
“Do not speak the name of the Valar in vein,” Aragorn’s stern voice replied. There was not a hint of aggression in the soft voice, just Anger, a calm anger, an unnaturally calm anger.
“Gil, Gil, what has happened, speak!” Denethor commanded him, for he wondered where this Anger came from, in a usually calm person, this anger was wrong, not natural.
“Do you know what he has just done? Do you know what he did to your son? Your wife?” Aragorn suddenly blew at Denethor, the one that had been his friend for so long. He could not take the backstabbing against an innocent child.
Denethor turned away, fearful for the life and safety of both Findulas and Boromir, he ran. Aragorn turned away, and knowing that Denethor would see to his wife first he began to walk swiftly to Boromirs room. He turned the last corner, and to his surprise he found an open door. He went in, and Boromir was nowhere to be seen. He opened up a final cupboard door to see Boromirs small babyish face. The poor boy had gone sheet white in pain. Aragorn offered a hand to help the boy out of the cupboard.
“I can’t,” was the only response
“Would you like me to help you out?” Aragorn asked
“Did he call for me?” Boromir asked. He was terrified Ecthelion would come and finish what he had started
“No” Aragorn replied.
A look of Relief came over Boromir and so, thinking about Aragorn’s offer for a second before nodding.
“I’m going to try my best not to hurt you Bori, but I cannot guarantee this, I am very sorry if I do hurt you,”
Aragorn slowly and carefully wrapped his long arms around the boy and lifted him gently out of the Cupboard. As soon as Boromir was out it became apparent just how deep the physical wound’s went, and know doubt th mental wounds would go deeper.
Boromirs entire left side was a catalogue of bruises cuts and burns; his back was covered in huge welts from a heavy hand. All along Boromirs right arm were small poker-sized burns, some more fierce than another.
Aragorn explained to Boromir in as simpler terms as was possible that he was going to fetch water to clean the burns and cuts with, lavender and other healing herbs for the burns and Altheas for the cuts. This was hard to do, as Boromir was so truly and utterly scared that he was fetching “the stew’rd to do what he forgot to do ‘n’ kill me.”
Eventually Boromir was settled as Aragorn asked a close by guard not to let a soul into the room
After a time Aragorn had cleared up the vast majority of Boromirs wounds-or at the least bound or stitched the cuts. Of course the burns had to be left to heal in their own time- which for some would be a long time- but heal they would, and eventually so to wound the mental wounds heal, but not for a while.
“Mister Thorongil, why did Stwew’rd Ecthelion hurt me and mama?” Boromir asked
“I don’t know Bori, but you Grandfather is a clever man, he knows that by hurting you and your Mama, he can hurt your papa too, and then he can…” he paused, how would you explain threat to one so young, he had an idea and so continued,
“he can make him do something by saying that if he does not do it he will hurt you again and that makes your Papa very upset, so it means he will do whatever your Grandfather tells him to do.”
“Do other people do that Mister Gil, or is steward ‘Ecthelion different?”
“My friend, the one I told you about, well somebody hurt him too, in much the same way. He made up a word for playing horrid games like that, it’s called Tacticality. It means how horrible Tactical can you be on a measure, and that score is your Tacticality.”
“That’s strange,” Boromir said
“It made him feel better though, helped him laugh afterward,” Aragorn said, “But strange is just about the measure of my friend and I,”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will someday, when I tell you, for in learning we will teach and in teaching we will learn.”