Title: Still Image
Series: Of Slayers and Knights
Fandoms: BtVS and LOTR (more book in this case)
Disclaimer: I do not own BtVS and LOTR.
When: pre FOTR, after season 4 of BtVS
Characters: Boromir, mentions of Buffy and Denethor
Summary: But she had smiled at the end, her body frail and old, and so very still under the covers
A/N: Gah, it's been so long since I've written anything for this series. Well, truthfully, I still haven't. This one has been lurking on my hard drive for a while. It was originally written for tth100. It's a bit different than the other ones I've written for this series, but I hope you'll still like it :)
Little Boromir ran down the white stone halls, ignoring his father’s calls. Tears blinded him and he almost stumbled into one of the Citadel guards. Quickly, before the guard registered his father’s orders to hold him, Boromir slipped past him and hurried onwards.
Tiring, Boromir slowed to a walk, listening carefully to see if his father was still chasing him. The vast hallway was empty. Unsure now as to which way to go, Boromir looked around, wiping his face. He espied a familiar door near the end of the hall, near the wing where his family was situated. His breath still hitching slightly, Boromir made his way to the room of one of his most favorite people.
Only when he entered the familiar room, decorated in warm reds and browns, did he remember that the comfort he had sought from the room’s owner could never be given again. The tears threatened to choke him again, but Boromir stubbornly wiped them, trying to be strong and stoic, the way his father always said a future Steward should be. His father always seemed to be saying that, ever since his mother had died.
But the familiarity of his surroundings did more to ease his tears than his father’s lectures. His eyes passed over the polished sword placed over the fireplace, the shining armor small enough to fit a woman in a corner of the room and the round shield hanging on the wall. Colorful tapestries lined the walls as well. Boromir had always thought it strange that his caretaker had been allowed to fight for Gondor when she had been younger. Not that he had anything against women fighting; he had listened to the stories of the fighting women of Rohan with just as much rapture as the others his nanny had regaled him with. But it wasn’t common practice in Gondor. His nanny must have been an extraordinary warrior to be allowed to fight.
Lastly, he looked at her portrait. The golden haired woman on it looked so different from what she looked liked now – had looked like, Boromir thought, fighting back more tears. The face was no longer smooth and unlined like in the portrait, and her hair was no longer a shining gold. But her eyes were just as bright and clear and she had the same posture of strength and dignity.
Boromir wished she had smiled on the portrait. His nanny had rarely smiled, but when she did, it had lit up the whole room. He had always thought that she had seemed so sad all of the time. He wondered why. Maybe she had lost someone, just like he and Faramir had lost their mother?
But she had smiled at the end, her body frail and old, and so very still under the covers. She had told him to not be sad, that she was finally going home. He wondered if his mother was there with his nanny; they had been great friends, it would be a shame if they were not together.
Boromir moved closer to the portrait, but stopped when something crinkled from under his foot. He bent and picked it up. It was another painting, but the likes of which he had never seen. Its surface, though old and worn, was very smooth. It was also the thinnest canvas he had ever seen, more like shiny parchment actually. The painting’s colors were still bright and the people in the painting were still clear.
There was a dark haired youth, who had one arm wrapped around a brilliantly smiling red haired woman while the other was around a brunette’s waist. The brunette was looking at the man with clear affection. The youth had a mischievous grin on his face. Behind them was a tall older man, his posture stiff and strait, but his smile was also warm and his gaze affectionate. A shy blonde woman was sitting next to the red head, their hands firmly clasped together. There was another dangerous looking man with a shock of white hair standing off to the side, apart from the rest. But in the middle stood his nanny, even younger in this picture than she was in the portrait. However, what caught Boromir’s attention was the happy, carefree way she was smiling. He had never seen her smile like that.
For the first time since his nanny’s death, Boromir smiled as well. Even though she had left him, Boromir figured that if she was with these strange people who made her so happy, then she deserved to be there. Maybe, some day far off, he would meet her again too. After all, hadn’t his father said that his mother would be waiting for them?
But for now, he would keep this strange painting, with all the smiling people, to remind him of his nanny. Maybe he could smile like that again too.