This story is rated «R», and carries the warnings «incest (consensual), mentions of brutal treatments, dark thoughts».
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18 December 2011 | 2909 words
Rating: R for descriptions of sex and instances of brutality
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Tolkien, I merely borrowed them for a short while, with no intended harm.
Warnings: incest (consensual), mentions of brutal treatments, dark thoughts
Notes: It’s a 1st person story from Faramir’s point of view. This turned out rather strange compared to my usual semi-serious stories. It became something darker and deeper that proved quite a handful, but I do not regret it and I hope the person who asked for the story is pleased and that they can fill in the mental imagery and make it suit their personal tastes.
Yes this story has a very dark tone and feel to it, but Faramir’s gloom is not surrender, it is stoicism and the will to last through the dark times of the war and from this angle one can se this as a positive, “all good things come to those who wait” kind of story.
An enchanted and merry Midwinter’s feast to the recipient of this story, to the lovely mods and fellow authors!
Summary: The two brothers struggle to survive the war and the darkness threatening them from inside as well.
Written for the 2011 Midwinter Swap.
Request by Anorien: Faramir/Boromir; They were lovers before the war, but when Boromir returned (after taking the ring from Frodo and nearly getting killed), he was a different man, cold, hard, jaded, not the loving, sweet (if slightly rough) older brother that had shared Faramir’s bed before Denethor had sent him to bring the ring home. Faramir has to make things right and bring his dear brother back from the edge and remind him how good they were and could be together.
(Faramir’s 1st person POV)
Sleep has eluded me since his return. When I do sleep, vivid nightmares and my darkest fears take over me and I find myself waking drenched in cold sweat and trembling. I look at him, sleeping next to me, equally troubled in his dreams but more resilient in fighting his demons. Or perhaps he’s already given into the shadow that creeps into the hearts of men in these dark times.
I knew something was terribly off when he returned, alive and well, although still weakened from the wounds he had received. I had had that horrible, horrible dream just a few nights before and I’d only begun to come to terms with the truth it delivered. My brother, the only person in this world whom I loved and who loved me back, was gone forever.
And yet, my brother had returned, the Horn of Gondor safe and intact under his cloak. It wasn’t that I did not rejoice at his return, but my dreams have never been wrong and they have always come to a painful fulfillment in real life, sooner or later. So for me, my brother had returned to me, but for how long?
Father was of course delighted to have him back and again forgot about my existence altogether, sending me off to Osgiliath. Soon after, Boromir followed me, and my nightmares became true.
For indeed, the brother and lover I had said goodbye to had never returned. In his stead, a Boromir look-alike performed almost flawlessly in public. But to me he was a stranger, and a cruel one at that. Once this new Boromir realized, from the sparks that filled the air whenever we locked eyes, that we were more than brothers, he began taking advantage of this in a most vile way.
On the first night at Osgiliath, he lured me into believing that his disturbed self had been a front to throw father off our trail and to make him rein in his anger at Boromir’s failure to seize the Ring. I noticed a wild, frightful flicker of something evil in Boromir’s eyes when he spoke of the Ring… but there was also a sense of despair in his voice when he revealed to me that he had almost died because he had tried to take it from the halfling.
His eyes were glassy and his gaze distant, but I blamed that on the wine. Once the first watch got to their positions, we retired to our quarters, which were nothing more than a room with empty stone walls and an elevated stone slab to serve as a bed.
My heart was racing and my knees were liquid, but that was alright because Boromir always took the lead. But what followed was not what I was used to or expecting. My big brother, the one whom I had grown to know and love like a big protective lion, made me experience every degree and nuance of pain there was. He was careless, as if he were handling a sack of river stones, he threw and bent me as he pleased… I guess I was too shocked to react and kept expecting his old self to take over.
Boromir should have known that he did not have to force himself on me. I had always worshipped him and given him everything without hesitation. But that night, he seemed miles away, looking for something that I was unable to provide in any way.
He hurt me that night, he hurt me in the only way Boromir could. I knew pain very well, from father and from constant battling an enemy which seemed to have an endless supply of troops ready to stifle all trace of life in this world. So it was not the pain that broke me, but knowing that my brother was lost to me, in prey to some demons I did not know how to fight.
The next morning, I bore the marks of the night’s events and if until then, any of our troops thought otherwise, now Boromir had made sure, in a most crude and direct way, that everyone, be they Man or Orc, knew I was claimed, in the same way one branded their cattle. Some of the things he had done had left marks that I knew were going to leave scars, some were simply the kind of things one does not allow themselves to bestow on loved ones. I had difficulty walking, standing, sitting and concentrating, but Boromir seemed strangely refreshed and calm.
The men who fought under my command did not judge me. To my surprise and their credit, neither of them came to offer comfort and treat me like a victim, which was what I dreaded the most. This was something which I had to sort out myself.
I began paying attention to Boromir’s conduct and small reactions which usually went unnoticed to the foreign eye. And soon, after watching him speak, eat and carry himself, I noticed a large invisible weight rested on his shoulders and the burden of it was bending him to the point of breaking. My big brother needed my help, but he did not want it, and I am sure that the brutality he has showed me was only to keep me away, scared enough of the “new” him to not come and meddle. If that was the case, then he must have been terrified by what he knew he was carrying.
I let time work with me, not against me, and tried to give Boromir to space and the opportunities to mend. I did not approach him as a lover after that night and when he tried to corner me, I fought my way out and denied him the confrontations he sought.
Fortunately for me, father took on the the unpleasant role of the one who shook Boromir out of the state of lethargy he was in. Father, I am sorry to say it, has long lost the war with madness. Since he has discovered the seeing stone, he locks himself in the tower with it and lets it pour poisoned images in his mind. Now the stone has persuaded father that Boromir has the ring but in fact keeps it for himself and wants to murder his own father.
Boromir has thus been cornered and someone, somewhere, had to become the one he confided in.
In the lush forests of Ithilien, under the cover of the waterfall, my big brother chose me for the task.
He told me how they set out from Rivendell, two men, one dwarf, one elf, a wizard and four hobbits, to take the Ring into the fires of Mount Doom. The road was littered with perils and monsters and the orcs and other vile creatures from Isengard never gave them any moment’s rest… however with all this on their plate, Boromir had decided to try and take the ring and thus had put the Ringbearer’s life in danger, two other halflings being taken by the fighting Uruk Hai.
More than that, Boromir said… he met this man… the heir of Isildur. This mysterious man was really the long lost heir to the throne of our kingdom, and he had earned Boromir’s allegiance through the blood they had shed together. But the weakness that Boromir had always been taught to see in Isildur’s line had reared its ugly head in him and he had disappointed his king. The heat of battle had separated them and the last thing Boromir had seen before falling under three arrow strikes had been the disappointment on the man’s face.
I knew that there was nothing I could say that would convince Boromir that he is still the worthy heir, the valiant warriorand the beloved brother… but I knew no words would matter to him now.
The fate of our world lies in the hands of a halfling and perhaps our time is coming to an end, but I will not have Sauron’s vile creation claim my brother.
So what if I resorted to a little bit of help from a few plant friends? Gathered under the full moon, dried, ground and made into an extract, then dripped into our evening tea, the goal was to loosen us both up enough that mask would drop.
I still have a suspicion that Boromir knew and did not fight it, and this was his silent plea for help.
However, once the tea, spiked with strong liquor by Bormir and with plant extract by me started making its way to our weary, cold limbs, we were able to sit down by the fire and talk, with the ease one opens up to a stranger that they know they might never see come daylight.
And it was only then that I did get my brother back. As the defenses fell and the ice melted, there was my brother, terrified by the thought that he had put his brick in the wall that was to bury us all.
He revealed to me that he had come to love the halflings, the wizard, the elf and the dwarf and above all, the man. Isildur’s heir had captured his heart in another way than the rest of the fellowship. And even though I should have been jealous, I was not. For I too already loved this man without ever having met him. I had often seen him in my dreams and had spoken to him, laying out my heart as I would in front of Boromir.
We spent the night talking, something which we had never done, and by the time daylight made my brother’s eyes sparkle, he was my fierce big brother, my Boromir.
Part of me was devastated at the outcome. Now I had my brother and my best friend back, but I had lost my brother. However, we had a war to fight and matters of the heart would only make survival harder to grasp so I buried my love deep within me, like a petrified fetus which would never see the light of the world.
We all paid a terribly high cost for our freedom and even for the right to feel the caress of Anor on our faces as she drove her chariot in the skies above the Pelennor fields. My body was broken, but not beyond mending, and my king called me back from the halls of the shadows, healing me. But it was Boromir who made me want to stay.
He never left my side and spoke softly to me, reading to me and caressing my heated forehead even when there was no foreseeable chance that I might rise.
His beloved face was the first thing I laid eyes on when my vision regained its clarity; his voice was the first thing I heard welcoming me back amongst the living. His being there filled my heart with joy and the will to live returned to me, pulsing strongly.
The world I awoke into was very different from the one I had fallen into. King Elessar now sat on the throne of Gondor, and to his side, Arwen Undomiel reigned as queen. Boromir was the steward of Gondor and I was made Prince of Ithilien. Peace had returned to this land after so much struggle, but now we had to rebuild that which had been demolished by war or had been allowed to fall into ruin.
My brother was a lion and still cared for me as if I were an egg. He insisted on sleeping in quarters neighboring mine, with a door in the wall so he could come and tend to all my needs and requests.
One day, not too long in the past, I saw him take council with the King. When he came to see me, he was wearing ceremonial robes and looked like a vision out of this world. Never had I seen my brother look this handsome, and I assumed bitterly that he had found a bride while I had been ailing and now he was attending his own wedding.
And in a way I was right.
I was happy I was still in bed because I would have fallen from my feet had I been standing when Boromir went down on one knee and presented me with a ring. He already wore its twin and he put the new one onto my finger, asking whether I would be his mate for the rest of our lives.
I was too dizzy for speech so I nodded frantically, listening to my brother telling me how King Elessar had seen through the appearances we kept and had suggested that my brother take me as his honored mate, on the condition of course that we both made sure to not leave the House of Stewards and Ithilien without heirs. New, interesting times were coming for Gondor, but then, why was I so amazed? On her throne sat a man raised by elves, and this man had married elvendom’s most beloved star.
And though the thought of being the center of attention in such a… non-traditional ceremony scared me, my answer to Boromir did not change.
It was a blurry, hurried affair during which Gandalf and the King spoke, big words were exchanged and a big celebration ensued.
At the end of the day, exhausted, I went to the rooms which had been prepared for us. I wanted to go to bed and sleep early so I could wake fresh the next day as my duties could not be neglected. I had come to terms with the fact that Boromir did not want me as his lover anymore and I feared that something had lingered inside him, something that had killed that part of him, making him not crave that, not from me, not from another.
However, he entered the room I was in and locked it with the key, then advanced on me, disrobing as he neared the bed. The look in his eyes was burning like the fires of Mordor and suddenly I knew that this was a whole new Boromir, but then, it was alright because the war and the struggle had made a new me as well.
My brother undressed me slowly, making sure I was relaxed, his eyes never leaving mine. He then lay me down on the luxurious, comfortable bed, the first one of this kind I had been in. And as he shed the last of his clothing and covered me, I realized why he had not been able to look at me as a lover all this time. He had wanted to earn his right to be by my side and to make sure we never had to steal furtive moments in the dark, like thieves. I also knew that while I would hear no grand, hollow love words from him, Boromir loved me like no man on Arda had ever loved.
This time I cried, hot tears rolling down my cheeks noiselessly, for all the pain and the darkness we had had to endure to reach this one moment of happiness and for all the joy my brother brought in my life from the very beginning.
Yes, I can very easily think of him as my brother, even as he moves inside me and claims me, because never has there been another willing to face death and ruin with me, for me, and I know with certainty I was put into this world only for him, to love him, and heal him and to reach into the deepest night to guide him safely home.
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The following people read the story, enjoyed it, and would like to thank the author: Minx , Ria