12. Such Sweet Sorrow
Boromir may have felt elation over his new means of livelihood, but it was nothing compared to the relief that Morgan experienced. During Boromir's first day while working for Carl, Morgan had been confident it would end badly. However, Boromir strode in perfectly amiable, and glad to be fatigued after a hard day's work.
The working week ended, and both Boromir and Morgan felt the restful bliss of a Saturday.
"Ooh, you made tea!" Morgan said, sleepy eyed and hair slightly askew. She took a sip and smiled. There were fewer things better in life than a nice, hot cup of Ahmad Earl Grey tea...
"Listen," Morgan continued when finding a comfy seat beside Boromir on the couch. "I have a surprise for you today."
"And an apology."
"Apology? Whatever for?"
"I forgot your birthday."
"My birthday?" Boromir had lost all track of time and days and months, and had not even realized that the event had passed. Did it even require a celebration? He was but one year older...
"So, I've planned something special for us!" Morgan said, excited about her little secret.
"Oh? What is it?" Boromir said, feeding off her giddiness.
"That's the thing about surprises! You'll have to wait and see!"
Boromir could only smile, knowing that the only means of extraditing such a secret was by means of tickling. And though he greatly desired to do this, his sensibilities on Morgan's delicacy naturally gave way. He would be forced to wait.
After the kerfuffle with the Little Person at the mall, Morgan had been most hesitant to repeat such an experience again, but knew that Boromir was still in need of certain articles of clothing. He may not complain about his lack of underwear, but she could no longer stand the thought of his having only one pair. And as she had not so much as even seen the said garment, she just assumed that he was always wearing them, and not pulling a Britney and going commando.
That morning, it was finally off to Macy's. They didn't have a choice because Boromir just couldn't wear jeans on their evening out. Therefore, it was decided by Morgan that he needed a suit, not to mention the underwear and socks.
They strode to the men's department, Morgan already red-faced and embarrassed. Boromir was such a proud man. There was no telling how he was going to react when she asked him about his skivvies.
She grabbed three bags of black boxer briefs, size medium, and shoved them into his hand without looking at him. "And you'll need some socks too..." she said, hoping that he just wouldn't ask, and naturally know what they were for. Well, she was out of luck.
"What are these?" Boromir asked, looking at one of the bags with suspicion.
"They're for you."
"But what are they for?"
"They're for you to wear."
"Morgan," Boromir said, sighing. She was dancing around all his questions, and he knew it. "What are we doing here? Have I not procured enough apparel? How much does one need?"
"You need a suit, and...I'm sure you're also low on underwear and socks," Morgan said, hiding her face behind a massive pair of boxers that had a gigantic skull on them.
"Underwear? What, pray, is underwear?" Boromir asked, looking at the bag, his brow furrowed in confusion.
Oh God, thought Morgan, kill me now! "Look at the picture on the bag..." Morgan said, peeking out from behind the rack of boxers.
Boromir examined the sketch more closely, and suddenly turned bright pink.
"Don't be embarrassed," Morgan continued, though feeling thoroughly embarrassed, herself. "Everybody wears underwear, and if they don't, they should."
"But you do not wear these!"
"No," Morgan said, but wondered how he knew that bit of information. "I wear girl's underwear." There was no way she was going to explain to him what a thong was, or how it worked, so their conversation ended there.
Boromir relented in silent mortification, thinking it wiser not to argue. Morgan was just as glad for his relent.
Underwear and socks in hand, they set off to find Boromir a suit. A male salesclerk, flamboyantly gay with blonde spiked tips in his hair, offered his services. Boromir knew not what to make of the man.
"We're looking for a suit," Morgan volunteered quickly, seeing keenly the expression of absolute bafflement when Boromir had gazed upon the sales assistant. She did not want a repeat of last time. Who knows what name Boromir would call this guy...
"And what colour did you have in mind?"
Boromir knew not how to answer, and so both men turned to Morgan for advice. "I'm thinking grey, or maybe black."
"Double-breasted?" the salesclerk asked Morgan. He knew who was the shopper of the pair.
"No," was Morgan's reply.
"Possibly, though it might be a little fussy for him..."
The sales assistant perused Boromir up and down with a quizzical eye, and said in a high-pitched, laughing tone, "I see what you mean!"
Boromir failed to comprehend what they were speaking of, but knew it did not bode well.
He tried on many suits, and hated each one of them. "I look affright in this ridiculous livery."
"I think you look great!" Morgan said as Boromir stood awkwardly in front of a mirror, as the salesclerk adjusted the pants.
"It does not suit..." Boromir said soberly.
The clerk held back his head and laughed. "The suit does not suit! Ha, ha, ha!"
Finding no humour in what he had said, he eyed Morgan in a look of unspeakable discomfort.
"Alright, no suit. How about just a pair of dress slacks?" Morgan offered, turning to the sartorial wiz.
"What are slacks?" Boromir appealed, extremely skeptical of what new garb they would dress him in.
"Ooh, yes, slacks!" the clerk said, rising and running off to grab a pair.
Slacks proved acceptable to Boromir, and with them finally selected they made their way to the cash register. At first Morgan had been determined that she should pay, but Boromir outright declared it to be a detriment to his manhood that he must forever be in her keeping. Morgan's last wish was to cause Boromir any kind of injury or injustice, so she quickly gave in.
They went home only to rest for two hours, change their attire, and then go. Morgan was dressed simply. Even more so than she had planned, now that Boromir was not to wear a suit. She wore a little black dress with a sweeping neckline, and her favourite silver earrings.
Boromir, however, was clad in his new black trousers, and a black, long-sleeved twill button down shirt. Morgan walked out of her bedroom in her two inch black pumps, saw Boromir and could not contain her laughter. "Oh God!" she said, looking down at herself, and then back at him. "Aren't we a pair! We look like we're going to a funeral! Oh well. Too late to change now..."
"You look," Boromir said as he strode near, "beautiful."
Morgan could not help but blush and smile. Humbly, she waved her hand about, as if swatting away his compliments. "You're sweet, but..."
"But when you smile, your face looks sweeter, still." Morgan smiled so brightly, the light within her seemed to almost glow. Boromir had been quite proud of that compliment, as it had taken him several days to phrase it just right. He had wanted it to be perfect, and not to sound bungling or obtuse.
Morgan reached over and quickly kissed Boromir on the lips. "Thank you," she said before going over to put on her coat.
Boromir blushed and smiled to himself. He was undeniably going to have to compose more compliments after such a triumph...
They went to dinner at a cozy little Italian bistro. Inside, the walls were painted a golden brown and decorated with intricate iron work, while a single tiny chandelier hung above each table.
Boromir perceived that only his best table manners were to be used, and so, buttered his tiny bread roll with the greatest of care. Morgan noticed how hard he was trying to do right by her, and with every movement that he made, her heart could not help but grow more enamored of him.
"This is a most beautiful eating house," Boromir said before taking a sip of his Chianti.
"My father and I used to have dinner here before he died. I haven't been in ages."
"How did he die?"
"Cancer," but Morgan was quick to catch the unfamiliar word. "It's a disease that can't be cured. I can say his passing was quick. I wish I could say it had been painless... I miss him."
"I understand your grief, for my mother departed when I was but ten years of age."
"Really? I didn't know that."
"Aye. My father was never the same afterward."
"He never remarried?"
"Nay," Boromir said, shaking his head. "Their love was one that I could only envy," adding 'until now' in his thoughts.
When their lasagna and chicken parmigiana had been consumed, and their cappuccinos finished, they set off for Morgan's surprise. They pulled the car into a large public parking lot, as a steady stream of people walked by.
"Where are they all going?" Boromir asked as he shut the car door.
"The same place we are. C'mon!" Hand in hand, they joined the surge of people which led directly to a theatre.
"We are to see a playact?" Boromir asked with jollity.
"Yes! Do they have them in...London?" They had come up with the understanding that while in public places, they would always refer to Boromir's home as 'London'.
"Oh, aye," Boromir said, smiling at his memories. "It has been so long since I have seen one, however..."
"Well, I hope you like this one. It's a very famous play," she said, and handed the usher their tickets.
They made their way to their seats in the third row centre orchestra. Morgan wanted Boromir to really enjoy this. Movies had always proven very tricky for Boromir to appreciate. She had a strong notion of his really getting into Romeo and Juliet.
Boromir stared at the program he held in his hand. "What sort of story is it? What is it about?" he asked Morgan. The elderly lady beside him, however, gave him the strangest look.
Morgan had noticed it, and turned to whisper in his ear. "Good things come to those who wait. Just enjoy the show."
The orchestra music swelled, the chandeliers were raised, the lights dimmed, the curtain rose, and the actors performed. Every now and then, Morgan glanced over to see a look she had never before seen on anyone's face; Boromir had an expression of pure thrill for what he was seeing. Morgan guessed that it was just old enough, just the right language, and what with sword fighting and all, it was just perfect!
"They died! Why did you not tell me so?!" Boromir exclaimed woefully at the end, receiving another incredulous look from the lady beside him.
"Oh! Didn't you like it?" Morgan said as they began to slowly make their way along the crowded aisle.
"Aye, but did they have to die? Twas very sad..."
Morgan smiled, as she had not expected such a reaction from him. Try as she might, she could not tell him that Hamlet, too, would die at the end. Perhaps she would choose something more cheerful for him next time, like, The Tempest.
They made their way home and Boromir watched the moon as they travelled along their dark road. "It was very beautiful..." Boromir said after a long silence. "Their love would not be denied them, despite their families. Tis enviable, really..."
"You envy how they died?"
"Nay, but how they lived. Regardless of what wrong or misfortune came upon them, they were ever more determined to be with one another. Their hearts never wavered. Did you not see?" He looked at her. The moonlight was cast against her face, making it appear pearly white. "Have you ever experienced such love?"
Morgan looked at him; his face was still and unsmiling. He held no mockery in his voice, and appeared sincere. She sat there breathless, continuously glancing both at the road and Boromir, unsure of how to reply.
Morgan pulled into the driveway and put the car in park. She turned to Boromir, who still sat waiting, his eyes searching hers for answers.
"Can I ask you a question, Boromir?"
"You may ask me anything you wish."
"Are you still going to try to go back to Gondor?"
"Why do you ask this?"
"Because the answer to your question lies in your own answer." She gazed at him feelingly. If he were to go, her heart would break, she had no doubt of it. If they were to admit to each other what was so blatantly obvious to her, that they loved one another, her question would have to be answered first.
Boromir understood, for his heart had continued to puzzle over the same unanswered questions. His elven boat still lingered by the river's edge, as it had done for all these passing months. Many times Boromir had pondered about its hidden elven magic. It had brought him here, could it also send him home? This was a question for which he longed to know the answer, but at what cost?
He reached out to her, grasping her tiny hand. "If I were to stay, there would be but one reason. It is my wish to stay." His hand ascended up her arm, and up to her soft cheek. "Is it your wish, also?"
Morgan nodded, her heart filling with such happiness. He leaned in, and gave her a lingering, soft kiss. She trembled at the touch of his soft lips, and the warmth of his close body. Their lips parted, and closed again, and his hand crept into the crevice of her neck, his fingers stroking her soft skin. When they parted, it was with heavily beating hearts, and elevated spirits.
Morgan unlocked the front door, while Boromir's tender arm hovered about her waist. The door swung wide, and Morgan tossed her keys on the little table by the door. She flicked on the light switch, but no light came, and they continued to stand in darkness.
"That's funny... The power must be out." Morgan looked outside. The night was clear with a pale moon rising. 'Weird..." She could see a soft, distant glow way down the road at Carl's place. His outdoor lights were on, so she knew he had power...
Boromir looked at his feet, and saw a smear across the tiled floor. It was difficult to see in such darkness, yet he felt that something was not right. And then it dawned on him. Moglie had not come to greet their arrival as he always did. "Stay where you are," he whispered to Morgan, and motioned for her stillness with a finger over his lips. He silently followed the strange smears into the kitchen where he saw Moglie, still and lifeless in a large pool of blood. His heart suddenly in his throat, he turned to her. "Morgan, go! Run!"
BANG! A gunshot rang out, and all fell silent.
A/N: Please review!!!
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.