Faramir Fiction Archive

Exile (NC-17)

Written by Alcardilmë

19 February 2012 | 8769 words | Work in Progress

Exile (NC-17)
by Alcardilmë
with Boromir, Faramir, Denethor, Théodred…. and others
Pairings: Boromir/Faramir, Boromir/Théodred, Faramir/Théodred, Boromir/Faramir/Théodred… so far…
Warning: brief het scene in first lines… Incest, violence, non-con, m/m.
A name called out in passion changes the lives of the Brothers Mir forever.

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Chapter One – Disaster

Boromir exploded. It had been too long since last he lay sheathed in another. It was not the ‘other’ that he wanted, but he could stand it no more. His body ached for fulfillment. And not by his own hand. Too many years now had he comforted himself. The girl’s lithe body undulated and the muscles pulled and Boromir screamed… “Faramir.”

All was still in the brothel’s small chamber. The woman beneath him ceased her movements. His own breath stayed. Blinking, he whispered her name, but the damage had already been done.

“I will leave you now.” He pulled on his leggings and shirt, threw his tunic over his shoulder, dropped some coins in the bowl by the bed, and left.

Morgoth’s Balls! He screamed silently. What am I to do now? I cannot let her live. He drew in a sharp breath. Holy Mother of Eru! I cannot kill her. What am I to do?

He skulked down the alleyway and headed towards the Citadel, biting his lip the whole way. As he approached the Sixth Gate, he pulled his tunic over his head. He straightened his back and walked past, saluting the guard, and then found his way into the back entrance. He took the servants’ steps two by two, at last finding himself in front of his own chambers. Putting his ear to the door, he sighed. No sound. Faramir must be with Father.

The Steward’s eldest and Heir sat on the bed, holding his head between his hands. Shivers shook his body. What am I to do? I must leave. I cannot stay and bring shame to Father. Tears sprang to his eyes but he blinked them away. No time for useless actions. I cannot bring shame to Faramir. She will not speak if I leave. What proof has she? He bit his lip and this time, it began to bleed.

He stood and laved his face in the washbasin, then walked to the wardrobe, pulled out a satchel, and began to fill it. A few shirts, another pair of leggings, some socks, braes, another tunic. Tears began to fall in earnest. He walked to the basin, laved his face and packed his blade and some soap. He dared not take too much. He needed to travel light.

Travel light! Where am I to go? Who would take someone like me, a plunderer of his brother, into their homes? He paused. I have never plundered Faramir. Just thought on it. Too many times. That is why I am in the spot I am in. If I had not dreamt of him, thought of him every time I took my own shaft in hand, I would not be running.

He wrapped a warm cloak about his shoulders, slung the pack over his back, and walked to the door. Stopping, he looked back to Faramir’s bed. The covers were fixed, the pillow straightened. All in order. As was Faramir’s wont. He stopped, walked to his brother’s bed, and lifted the pillow. Tears threatened. He clenched his teeth and pulled the pillow to his face, breathing deeply of the scent that was his little brother’s. Nay – he would accept it. Faramir was not his little brother, but his whole life. His reason for living. And now, though Faramir never would know it, he would leave to protect him. From gossip and shame and from the lust that burned in his loins and the unclean love that seared his heart. He placed the pillow back on the bed, straightened it, and left their room. To live alone and in exile.

Chapter Two – Finding Boromir

Faramir walked the perimeter of the Citadel, a sharp north wind tossing his long black hair about, but Denethor’s son paid it no heed. All his thoughts were on his brother. He had not seen Boromir since last evening’s meal and he was become concerned. Boromir’s bed had not been slept in. An unusual event for the short stays allotted to Gondor’s Captain-General. Faramir’s duties were now complete for the day and he had time to look for his brother. His search of the Citadel had proved fruitless. Boromir had not been seen.

The young man looked over the parapet. The crowds in the Sixth Circle were too many. He swore and walked to the Gate. Saluting, he passed into the tunnel. Then stopped. He looked back. Beregond stood at attention. Drawing in a deep breath, he returned to the guard.

“Have you seen Boromir?”

“Not of late, Lieutenant.”

Faramir saw a twitch in the guard’s eyelid. “When was the last time you saw Boromir?”

The guard actually fidgeted and alarms rang in Faramir’s mind. “When was the last time you saw Captain-General Boromir?”

“This morning. Near to the first bell.”

“Was he coming back to the Citadel?”

“He was headed towards the Sixth Circle.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

The guard shook his head. “He did not.”

“Then why did you not tell me you saw him?”

Beregond lowered his head. “He… he slipped me some coins and ordered me not to say anything. To anyone.”

“How was he adorned?”

“What do you mean?”

“How was he dressed? Did he carry a pack? Did he have his traveling cloak?”

Beregond looked at him as a pup when it has accidentally wet its master’s boots.

“Beregond.” The alarms were now strident. “Was he dressed for travel?”

“He was, my Lord,” the soldier gasped. “He had a pack and his traveling cloak. He carried an extra sword.”

Faramir swallowed hard, fear constricting his throat. Has Father sent Boromir on a mission I know naught of? It was probable. He quelled his fear and nodded. “Thank you, Beregond. As my friend, I would have expected you to be more forthright.”

The soldier grimaced, then saluted. Faramir turned back to the Citadel, strode into the Tower, and across the Great Hall. His father sat, listening to reports from the southern regions. Faramir waited.

“Why are you here?” Denethor asked, his tone low and puzzled. “We were not to meet till nuncheon.”

“I came to ask where Boromir has gone. What posting did you send him to? And perhaps when he might return?”

Denethor scowled and waved the men away. He motioned. Faramir stepped forward.

“Why do you bother me with such things? Useless things! Boromir is here. He has not received new orders. I do not have to explain myself, Faramir. Now, return to your duties. By the way, when you find Boromir, send him here. I would speak with him.”

“He is not in the City, Father.”

Denethor looked up from his papers. “Went out for a ride, did he?”

“Nay, Father. He wore his traveling cloak. He carried a packed bag.”

Inhaling deeply, Denethor stood. “How do you know this? Did he tell you? Did he say where he was going?”

“Nay, Father. I looked for him all afternoon. Beregond; he guards the Sixth Gate, told me Boromir passed him in the early hours of the morning.”

“Have Beregond brought to me.”

“He knows no more than I have told. Boromir was packed for a long journey.”

Denethor motioned. His aide stepped forward. “Find Boromir. Bring him to me.”

Chapter Three – Penitence

Once, only once did Boromir look back upon his City and wept. Its splendor had always held sway over him. He could envision nothing quite as beautiful…. Except Faramir. He bit his lip, flinching at the pain of the brutalized lower fold, and faced westward, with no clear idea of where he was headed or what he would do. All he knew, in the aching depths of his heart, was that he had lost everything dear to him. Everything.

He took to hiding in the Drúadan Forest, spending nights huddled in caves or makeshift lean-tos. Days he spent hunched in somber thought, always facing eastward, always towards Minas Tirith – and Faramir. He agonized over all that had transpired on that last day. Seeing Faramir wash in the morning, watching with lust-filled eyes as his brother’s cock, limp and beautiful, swayed with Faramir’s morning ablutions. When his brother left their room, Boromir had done the only thing he could do. He took Faramir’s pillow, placed it over his head, breathed in the musky scent, and gave his oblation to his brother as he came, again and again.

It did not satisfy. Nothing satisfied, even though he moaned loud enough to be heard on the First Circle. He spent the rest of the day pacing the balcony of the highest tower in Minas Tirith, screaming his frustration, his love, and his abject horror at the feelings that now controlled him. He could stand it no longer. Nightfall found him in that curséd brothel. He sealed his own doom in that one word.

In his latest cave, Boromir flailed himself each morning, recognizing that, if only he had stayed that one word, that one damning word, he would now be with his brother, in his City. Ever he dwelt on that last moment with Faramir’s scent in his nostrils. He could find no other solution but the one he had condemned himself to.

By the evening, each evening, his lip bloodied, his back covered with welts from the hand-made whip, his forehead scraped and raw from pounding it into the earth, he fell into exhausted sleep. He did not know, could not tell, what caused him to mutilate himself. Was it to sate his lust for Faramir or to seek forgiveness from whichever Valar he had unknowingly offended? Right now, he did not care. His arms ached to hold Faramir.

Boromir knew he was going mad and wondered if Saruman, during his last visit, had placed some spell of depravation upon him. He shook his head and cringed at the pain. Drawing in a breath to steady himself, cursing. More than two years ago, he had recognized and accepted his carnal love for Faramir. The wizard could be blamed – by someone with less sense!

Seeking respite from such ruinous thoughts, he took himself in hand and came with hardly a pull. The moment did not last as he felt hands on his shoulders and heard chortling. He turned and faced a band of Drúin¹. One hit him. The sudden attack from the stocky creature made him stagger. Boromir looked up in surprise and was backhanded. The blow rocked him. He fell. He did all in his power to stay the assault, but one of the creatures sat on him. Two others held his arms while a fourth repeatedly kicked his ribs.

Boromir cried out. His attackers did not hear, or did not understand. Blood ran down his throat and he choked on it. The Drúin seemed not to notice. The pummeling continued until Boromir could not breathe. His eyes closed in final surrender.

¹ Drúin (plural) Dru (singular) – Sindarin for the native Drughu, known by the Rohirrim as Wose.

Chapter Four – Puzzles

Faramir waited at the foot of the steps leading up to the empty Throne and listened as the errand-rider gave his report to Denethor. A report without a shred of hope. Boromir could not be found. Or would not. Frustration welled in the young man’s chest yet he stayed his tongue. Naught would be gained by ill words.

Denethor turned to his youngest. “You chafe at my ways. Yet I have done what is reasonable, Faramir. If Boromir does not want to be found, he will not be. There is naught more we can do. Get you back to Ithilien. When your brother returns, I will send for you.”

Faramir saluted, turned and forced himself to walk, not run, down the long Hall. When he reached the doors, he clenched his teeth to keep from flinging them open. He succeeded for but a moment. He slammed them shut behind him and screamed into the winds off the Courtyard, then ran to the Fourth Level and The Inn of the Three Arrows.

“Three months,” The Steward’s youngest groused. Beregond sat beside him, quaffing his sixth ale. “Three months, Beregond, and we know no further than the first day. How can this be?”

His friend shook his head. “I know not. I only wish I were with him. He needs his back covered. Too headstrong.”

Faramir grimaced. “That is what has landed us in this predicament. If he had only come to me. I have heard no hint of trouble or loss of honor. No one seems to know what happened. Again I ask you, how can this be?”

“I think we should go to Rohan. Perhaps he fled that way.”

“Fled? Why would he flee?” Faramir lowered his head in consternation. “What has happened? He cannot have fled. Father has sent him on some covert action. But to where?”

“The Steward would tell you, Faramir. He does have a heart, though it is oft hidden. We should go to Rohan. We have searched Ithilien from north to south.”

“And we have searched Belfalas,” Mardil chimed in. “There are no signs of him. Prince Adrahil would tell you, I know he would, if Boromir were there. If not him, then Prince Imrahil.”

“We have searched Lossarnach and Lebennin,” Mablung said as Damrod nodded. “Nothing. No word. It is as if he sailed into the West. I do not understand.”

“Rohan.” Faramir sipped his ale. “Walda arrived two days ago with horses for Denethor, but I have not been allowed to see him. We must find him, draw him aside, and question him. If he knows aught, he will tell us.”

“Then let me go,” Beregond said. “I am not on duty again for four hours. You are not supposed to be here, Faramir; you are supposed to be on your way to Ithilien. If your father or anyone else sees you…”

“Well I know it. Mablung and Damrod best stay with me also. They are known to be my traveling companions. Are you able to do this alone?”

Beregond snorted. “The Rohirrim frequent The Black Horse. I will find Walda or his men. I will bring them here.” The soldier left the inn by the back door.

Faramir took a room and washed himself. Mablung and Damrod ordered dinner. They waited long into the night. Dawn was breaking; the sound of a cock crowing woke Faramir. Startled, he stood and walked to the window, just in time to see Beregond, with Walda, walking towards the inn. He shook Mablung and Damrod and the three went down to the now empty common room.

Chapter Five – All Is Stone

Boromir felt himself being shaken and tried to ward off the assault. He could hardly breathe for the fire in his lungs. He was pulled to a standing position, but his legs gave way and whatever or whoever held him soon discovered that Boromir of Gondor was not a light man. He felt himself falling but could do naught to stop. His face hit the ground.

He was dragged. Over rocks and dirt and grass and Eru only knew what. He was sure some of what he was dragged through was dung for the stench made him wretch. His broken ribs screamed. He tried to tuck into himself, but the creature that pulled him would not allow it. Finally, comprehension struck. Two were dragging his arms while two pulled on his legs.

Though he tried to kick at his captors with every ounce of strength left to him, his legs would not respond. He could not get free. He calmed himself and waited for this journey to end, hoping he would discover their purpose in holding him, pummeling him. It made no sense.

Before he knew what was happening, he was thrown down and kicked again. When he opened his swollen eyes, he had to blink to see. He was in a cave – and surrounded. He had heard stories of poisonings, murder, cannibalism. He shuddered and kept his head low. But the Drúin would have none of it. He was pulled up and made to stand, two holding him on either side. One, he thought it might be their leader, cupped his face, its nails digging into his cheeks, and forced Boromir to look into red eyes. To his shame, he shivered.

“We eats Horse Soldiers. Now try Stone Man.”

Boromir looked wildly about, trying to find a way to escape. The Dru’s hand tightened; the fingers drew blood.

“We take you first, then eat you.”

Two pulled out knives, cut his tunic, and pulled it off. They then sliced through his leggings, ripping the shards from his body. His mail tore at his chest and then his face as it was drawn over his head. His shirt followed and then his braes.

Boromir stood naked, still supported by the others. They leered and Boromir, for the life of him, could not control his body. It shook. They forced him onto his knees. The leader clenched Boromir’s cheeks so tight that the young Tirithian’s mouth opened and was immediately filled by a hideous tasting cock. Boromir tried to move, to bite down on it, but the hand held him fast. He had heard someone telling of how it felt to have your mouth raped. He had never understood. It ended quickly. Semen spurted into his mouth, drowning him. He tried to spit it out, but was rewarded by another slap to the side of his head. His ears rang.

“Taste good, no? You like?” The creature laughed.

Boromir’s head lolled to the side. Another of the beasts held his cheeks and thrust his tongue in. Boromir screamed around the protrusion, but then gasped in pain as his balls were squeezed tightly. He saw stars. The pain – worse than anything he ever imagined – forced his mouth open wider and another cock forced its way in. Nothing he could do would stop the assault. The pressure and pain on his cheeks from the massive hand kept his mouth open. He groaned.

“You hard like stone. You have stone cock, Stone Man?” More laughter, this time joined by others. “Look! Water from Stone!” The creature wiped the tears from Boromir’s face and licked them, then licked his face.

Chapter Six – The Truth Will Out

“Walda knows nothing, but has sent for one of his soldiers.” Beregond quaffed a tankard of ale.

Walda slurred, “Boromir’s well able to care for himself. Why do you launch such a search, Faramir?”

“He left in secret.” Faramir rubbed his face. “It has been three months.”

“Three months. Perhaps he’s finally found a wench that satisfies him. No one in Edoras ever did.”

“Walda!”

“I’m sorry, Faramir. I’ve been drinking all night,” the soldier whispered. “Listen. One of my men has got him a new woman, from here. He found her two nights ago. She talks too much. She mentioned your brother. Of what they’d do together. Trying to make herself seem important. I’ve sent for him. The fool fell for it, wants to marry her, bring her back to the Mark.” The Marshal stopped. “I’m thirsty. Is this the way you treat your guests?”

“I… Beregond, get another tankard.” Faramir turned back to Walda. “You have not seen Boromir?”

The Captain shook his head, moaning. “What kind of ale is this? It kicks like a mule!”

The door was flung open as Walda slumped in his chair. The innkeeper gestured and a soldier stepped forward.

“I was sent for, Marshal?”

Faramir looked in astonishment. A whore from one of the lower circles stood behind the Rohir.

She gasped, clearly recognizing the Steward’s son, and tried to run from the room, but Beregond was swift and stopped her. The soldier shouted out, but Damrod stayed him.

“I didn’t say nothing.” The woman started to cry. “I didn’t tell no one. Honest. Let me go. I…”

“Be quiet, woman!” Beregond pulled her towards Faramir’s table. “Close your mouth until you’re told to speak.”

“I didn’t do nothing but what I was supposed to do. It was him!”

“It was Boromir?” Faramir’s voice could hardly be heard over Walda’s snoring.

But she heard and fell to the floor. “It was him. I did right by him and he… he goes to hit me.”

“Boromir would never hit a woman!” Faramir kept his trembling voice low. “Leave us.” The woman began to stand up, but Faramir held her shoulder. “Not you. Beregond, take them out. And Walda with you.”

The guard nodded. Faramir saw the questions in his eyes, but could not explain. Would not. For he knew that what he would hear from this woman was more than any man should ever know about his brother.

“Come.” Beregond slung Walda over his shoulder. Mablung held the door open. Damrod pulled the innkeeper out, though the man squawked loudly.

Faramir knelt on the floor next to the woman. “Tell me everything.”

“He comes in all red and shaking. He grabs me and throws me on the bed. He’s not a gentle man, but he’s not been like that before. I was scared but did what I’m supposed to do. I lay on the bed and opened my legs. He took me hard.” She sniffled. “But with him, it was good anyhow. He came, real fast. Faster then he’s ever come afore. I was close, but he screamed.” She wailed. “I didn’t do nothing. Just what’s I was supposed to do.”

“What are you…” Faramir lowered his head, trying to understand what had happened, trying to remember what she had said. His heart clenched. “What did he scream?”

“No. I ain’t saying. He’d kill me if I said. I know he would, he looked that awful.”

“I will protect you. But you must never tell anyone else. Do you understand me?” When she nodded, he once again asked, “What did Boromir scream?”

“Faramir.”

Chapter Seven – For Sale

His days lasted forever; his nights were doomed. They fucked him in every way imaginable and in some ways that he thought should kill a man. But he did not die. He clung to life, thoroughly convinced that he was being punished. He accepted it all, as he had accepted his own self-flagellation. Conversely, he knew Faramir was free, clean, safe. That thought sustained him, gave him strength when they shoved their axe heads up him, shoved their cocks, two at a time, into his mouth, shoved their hands… Faramir’s honor was intact, that was all that mattered.

Each night, they would bring him to the main chamber. Groggily, he tried to stand when they called for him. His legs would not obey. As was their wont. The guards did not wait for the cavern and their master; they never did. One grabbed his balls and he arched upwards, trying to ease the abused testicles from the beast’s hand. The other quaffed his shaft, swallowing, pulling, licking, biting. His cock grew hard. He spilled. He wept.

His eyes were swollen shut but he knew, as they dragged him from his prison, that another night of torture lay before him. The room was full to overflowing with Drúin. He could feel them; smell their stench as he suffered their filthy hands on his naked body.

“Stone Man for sale now. I no more need him. Got me horse woman. She tastes better.”

Their gurgles, he had learned it was laughter, echoed through the cave at their leader’s announcement.

He heard her screams and, for one moment, his heart opened and he felt sorrow. The poor thing. She will not last long.

He stumbled when they shoved him forward, stumbled and fell. The echo of their mirth abused his senses. Louder than ever. He tried to cover his ears, but his hands were pulled from them. He felt hot breath on his ear and flinched as one of them screamed into it, then cuffed him. All noise muted into one dull roar.

“Stand.” The leader kicked his cock and tears sprang. He wondered if a cock ever fell off, from maltreatment. Probably not.

“Who wants?”

“I give you two ponies.”

“Two ponies! One night you get for two ponies!”

“Give you four and my sister.”

“She ugly. No want.”

“I will give you my sword!”

He tried to see whose voice that was. Familiar. Rohirric. His eyes would not open, but he did not need to see as hope coursed through him. Rescue?

Clashing steel. A body slammed into him, forcing him to his knees. He rolled. A kick caught his head and stars shimmered. An axe grazed through his shirt and across his stomach. His gut clenched.

I will not pass out.

Screams, thuds, the smell of horses. Terror hung in the cavern like some foul-smelling sore. Who? What is happening? A body, naked except for the grass-skirt, fell on him. He tried to kick it off. It would not budge. He could not breathe from the weight of it.

A hand jerked his arm, pulling him out from under it and across the cave’s floor. His broken ribs flamed as they were pulled apart and pain seared through him. He screamed.

“Be quiet!”

Stunned to hear the Common Tongue, he thought he must be befuddled.

“Who are you?” he croaked, his throat so dry and raw he thought it would burst into flame.

“Théodred, my friend. Be still.”

His other hand snaked over the hand that pulled him and held tight to it. He was drowning in his own tears.

Chapter Eight – Code of Honor

“You cannot go alone.”

“Already you have risked your post for me, Beregond. I can ask no more. Father will have you demoted to cleaning the sewers.”

“There are rats in the sewers. I need some new friends.”

Laughing, Faramir clasped his friend’s shoulder. “You cannot.” His voice turned serious. “I will not allow it. Besides, Mablung and Damrod are halfway to the North Gate. I must leave now, else they continue on without me. Beregond, stay here and listen. If you hear aught of Boromir, send word. I rely upon you.”

“It will be done, though you sorely try our friendship. But you are right, as always. I will keep my ears open. You may trust me.”

“I know. Now, I must ride.” He mounted. The Great Gate opened and his horse surged forward. He kept a hard pace for an hour.

“You will kill your horse at that rate, Faramir.” Damrod’s mount drew up on his right. Mablung appeared on his left.

“So to Rohan?” Damrod asked.

“Not at first. I would scour the quarry area first. Then the Drúadan Forest. After that, perhaps Rohan. I cannot believe Théodred would harbor Boromir and not let me know.”

“Unless Boromir asked him not to.”

“Théodred knows… I think he would send a rider.”

Mablung scratched his chin. “Théodred is close to Boromir.”

Faramir’s cheeks flamed. “They are dear friends.”

“Faramir. Théodred is besotted by Boromir.”

Refusing to answer, he pulled his cloak tight about him and rode on, reaching the quarry road before dusk.

The road lay desolate and drear. After an hour’s search, Faramir called out, “He did not come this way. There are no signs.” He lowered his head, fighting tears. “We shall camp here and head west in the morning.”

“Faramir,” Damrod threw another log on the fire, “do you know why Boromir left as he did?”

“Yes.”

Damrod lowered himself next to his lieutenant. “Does it involve his honor?”

“I do not know whose honor it involves, but I am sure it is an issue of honor.”

Mablung snorted.

“Your father raised him to value honor above all else, Faramir.” Damrod continued. “If it is unseemly, or unwise, it is nonetheless ingrained into his very being.” Damrod breathed a heavy sigh. “You cannot fault your brother for this flaw.”

“It is not a flaw,” Faramir stood and walked from the fire. He returned but a moment later. “It is something to be envied. This devotion to honor. It makes him strong. His men rely upon his honor. It gives them confidence and faith. He can ask anything of them, and they, knowing he would ask naught more than he would give, obey him. Adore him.”

“As do you. And it is as you say. But, honor needs be balanced by common sense. If honor blinds one to living only for honor, then one is doomed.”

“Then we are all doomed, Damrod. For honor and duty are fundamental in this age of evil.”

“Faramir. You fight because you love Gondor and you love your men. You would give your life for us. We know it. And we give ours for you. For you.”

“Then you do me wrong, Damrod. It is this code of honor that gives me the courage to fight for our beloved land, to live rightly, to face death. Boromir’s honor is pure.” He turned in hopes they did not see the blush he felt creeping up his face. “Let us to sleep. I wish to wake before sunrise and be on our way.”

Damrod put the fire to bed. Mablung cobbled the horses.

Chapter Nine – Warm Arms

He felt the sun on his face; his eyes still refused to open. Probably best else the sun blind me. When was the last time I saw it?

“Boromir. Can you stand?”

“I can. I will.” He felt a strong arm wrap around him. He pushed against the ground and found his feet. He swayed but a little. The warmth of Théodred’s body engulfed him.

“What happened? How did you come here?” The Marshal whistled to one of his men. “Bring a cloak. Boromir, you must be covered.”

Boromir slumped against Théodred’s chest. His friend’s arms tightened. “I lost my focus and was taken.” Literally. “I… No one knows I am here.”

“Faramir must be beside himself.”

“Why do you say that?” Boromir’s spine bristled and he pushed himself away from the comforting warmth.

“Boromir.” Théodred raised his arms in a gesture of peace. “You look terrible. You’ve lost weight. You’re covered in filth. You’ve been beaten and it is plain to see you’ve been a prisoner for some time now. Do you think your brother is not worried?”

“Of course. I… I misunderstood.” He fell to the ground.

Shouting for water, Théodred knelt and took Boromir in his arms. “I will take you to Minas Tirith, Boromir. We should be there by nightfall.”

“No!” Boromir grabbed Théodred’s tunic. “I cannot go back.” He swallowed convulsively.

“Then I will take you to Nardol. It is close.”

“No, Théodred.”

“Boromir… Halifirien is a long ride. Would you prefer I took you there?”

“Please.”

Water was brought and Théodred helped Boromir. He then stood and turned to his second. “Order the company to split. Half will stay with me while I care for Boromir. The other half will escort Hildelith’s body to Aldburg. Were any of the other women found?”

“No, my lord.” Gram said. “Not even their bodies.”

Théodred lowered his head. “Bema! Could they have been eaten?”

“A possibility. The cave was littered with bones.”

“I only heard one woman’s scream,” Boromir strained to speak. His throat still burned. “I think none other were brought to the cave.”

“Very well. Gram, when you are finished with this task, return to me. We will traverse the Great West Road.”

His second saluted, called out the orders, and soon half the company rode off.

“Set up camp. I want a basin in my tent.” Théodred turned to Boromir. “We will have you comfortable shortly. A bath, I suppose, would be nice?”

“Théodred,” Boromir whispered and his friend dropped to his knees.

“You are sore tested, dear Boromir. Keep your courage a little longer. I will bathe you myself.”

Boromir leaned into Théodred’s chest and wept. His gratitude overwhelmed him. “Thank you,” he managed to say.

“Hush. Speak no more. The tent is up.” The Rohir stood, picked up Boromir, and walked into the tent. “You weigh no more than Éowyn,” he sobbed. “What else have they…”

“They did the things beasts do to men,” Boromir choked. “Think upon it no further. Have you salves?”

“I do. Bema, Boromir. I cannot fathom how this happened. Where was your escort? Your personal guard?”

Boromir coughed. “I will say no more, Théodred. Leave me in peace for the nonce.”

Nodding, Théodred placed Boromir on a low cot. A basin, filled with hot water, was brought in and Théodred began the long process of bathing Boromir.

Chapter Ten – A Grisly Discovery

My spirit is crushed. I placed such hope in finding Boromir near the quarry that when we found it desolate, my heart all but sank. The Drúadan Forest likewise proved of little worth. I know not where to look.

“Both the quarry and the forest helped our search, Faramir. We know where Boromir is not.” Mablung pulled back. “I am sorry. I did not mean to read your journal.”

Faramir faced Mablung. “The despair I write of is writ upon my face.”

“But the signs show the Rohirrim battled the Drúin² in the cave. I think we should look to Rohan.”

“The battle appears to have occurred only two or three days ago.” Damrod added.

“But we know not if Boromir was there. What would the Drúin want with Boromir?” Faramir’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I cannot believe Théodred would ever let me suffer as I do now. There is no excuse for what Théodred has done.”

Damrod held Faramir’s horse as his lieutenant mounted. “Théodred would not hide Boromir from you. Let not your fears for Boromir sully your friendship with Théoden’s son, Faramir.”

“For myself, I hope you speak true, Damrod.” Faramir breathed a weary sigh, “If you are ready, let us on to Rohan. I am tired of this riddling.”

They turned east. As they rode, Faramir kept a watch on the path before them. The signs of the Rohirrim were everywhere. He chuckled. “They hide not their presence.” The next moment, his face turned grim. “I thought at first that the tracks were from Walda’s company. They are not. Look here. It is at least an éored riding towards the forest. Walda only rode with a dozen men. And he insisted they used the Great West Road. They did not ride here, amongst the trails of the Drúadan.”

“There!” Mablung shouted and spurred his horse southward.

Before Faramir and Damrod reached him, Mablung slid from his horse. “It is a grave,” he whispered.

Faramir jumped from his own horse and fell to his knees. “No. Not Boromir.”

“Take heart, Faramir.” Damrod knelt next to his lieutenant. “The Rohirrim would never bury Boromir. They would bring him to your father.”

“By Varda’s light,” Mablung gasped. “It is a child. The grave is new, perhaps a few weeks. The bodies have been dead at least three months.”

“Not a child. Some kind of abomination.” Faramir looked away.

“A mongrel of some sort, but not Orcs. I think it is half human, half Drúin. There is another body underneath. A woman.” Mablung gasped. “Mother and child.”

“The Rohirrim would not leave their dead in a hillside grave. Would the Drúin?”

“No.” Faramir sat back on his heels. “I do not understand this.”

“If the Drúin captured her, they would have eaten her when she died.” Faramir stood. “But it is not our concern. Cover the bodies. We ride west to find Boromir.”

Mablung and Damrod replaced the dirt and mounted.

As nightfall crept closer, Faramir called a halt. “The Rohirrim camped here. Search the area for signs of Boromir.”

“An éored, no doubt, Faramir.” Damrod knelt by a spent campfire. “But it has been weeks since they were here. The bodies we found were dead longer than that.”

Faramir knelt next to his friend. He studied the tracks. “We have another riddle here. This is not Walda’s camp. We know that. This is a full éored’s. But the tracks we have been following were those of perhaps fifty riders. What has happened?”

Faramir sat back on his heels. “I read this and beg your thoughts. An éored, probably led by Théoden’s son, left Aldburg or Amon Anwar, headed eastward. They camped here, found the bodies and buried them, then continued on. Somewhere along the way, they split. For what reason I cannot fathom. One half returns this way. I cannot believe they lost half their men in the battle in the forest. Where were the bodies? No. Théodred triumphed.” His brow furrowed deeper. “Where is the other half of the éored?”

² A/N – Drúin (plural) Dru (singular) – Sindarin for the native Drughu.

Chapter Eleven – Filled With Love

“Théodred?” Boromir moaned at the fire that coursed through his throat.

“I am here, Boromir. Let me remove the bandages. Your eyes should be better.”

Boromir felt his friend next to him. A gentle hand began to unwind the cloth. Boromir kept his eyes closed, fearful that sight would be denied him. Once again, despair flowed through him. Only proper if my sight is denied me. I am worthless.

“There. The swelling is down. The eyes look fine. I have diminished the light. Try to open them, my friend.”

Boromir shook his head. Tears streamed into his hair.

“Our leeches are as good as Gondor’s healers, Boromir. Mine promises me your sight will return. Open your eyes and let us find how much you can see.”

Théodred’s request was so filled with love that Boromir obeyed. They light stung and his eyes closed of their own volition.

“One more time. I have closed the tent flap. There is no light in the tent. Please, Boromir?”

Again, he opened his eyes. There was no pain, though a thin film kept parts of his eyelids stuck together.

“Give me but a moment.” Théodred wiped them with a warm, wet cloth. “I am sorry for my ill treatment of you. I have made mistakes. Please try again.”

Tears slid down the sides of Boromir’s face. “Ill treatment. I have only received the gentlest of care from you, Théodred. My guilt is more than you can know.”

“Sh, fair prince. Tell me what you see.”

“I see my dear friend.” His brow knotted. “You look terrible.”

Théodred laughed. “I have not slept since we found you.”

“How long?”

“Two days and three nights.”

“You saw… everything?” Boromir turned his face away.

“Everything that I love.” The young man kissed Boromir’s forehead.

Boromir cringed.

“Boromir,” Théodred cried. “The torture you endured. Will it keep us apart? Damned be the Rógin³. I care not what they did to you. I love you. Do not turn from me.”

“Théodred,” Boromir croaked, “I am unclean.”

“And I have cleansed your body. When you are healed, I will cleanse you from the inside out. Oh, Boromir. My love will overcome this. You will see.”

Boromir moaned. “Please leave me, Théodred. I must needs rest.”

Théodred choked. “I will obey for now, Boromir. But I will not leave you long. On the morrow, I will return and we will speak of your trials. Then, we will speak of our love. I know you love me, Boromir. I know you do.”

Boromir closed his eyes. He heard Théodred sigh and leave. Sobs shook him.

After a time, he slept. When he woke, he could see that dawn was near. The flap was up and a guard stood next to it. “Théodred,” he whispered. “You make this so hard for me. You cannot love me. Not after what I have done. I must leave.” He slid his legs from the cot. His head spun before he was halfway sitting. He fell back against the pillow. “One moment’s rest, then I will try again.” And again he tried and again his head spun so violently he retched. Nothing came up but bile. He spat it out and fell back. “I can do this.”

When next he woke, the sun shone into the tent. A steaming bowl of porridge sat next to his cot. He sobbed. “I have lost the moment. Tonight. I will give myself the day for healing and tonight I will leave.”

“If you do, I will leave with you.”

Théodred’s outline blocked the opening. Boromir’s eyes stung with tears.

³ The actual name for the Drúedain used in Rohan was rógin, and a single Wose would have been known there as a róg. http://www.glyphweb.com/arda/r/rogin.html Encyclopedia of Arda.

Chapter Twelve – He Has Some Fear of You

Faramir’s head ached from the riddle. No, the second riddle. The first was — where was Boromir?

“Let us rest for the night, Faramir.” Damrod offered a skin of water. “You have dreams. Mightn’t one manifest itself? We can hope it will bring answers.”

“I have had no dreams since Boromir disappeared.” Faramir drank and remounted. “A little further, Damrod. We have an hour of light.”

They rode south. Darkness spread across the land. A sliver of Anor lit the westward sky.

Mablung dismounted. “We cannot see further, Faramir. We must stop, else we pass a clue in the night.”

Faramir dismounted. “Let us search the nearby area after we light a fire.”

They lit torches from the hastily made fire. Mablung went east; Damrod trudged westward. Both had swords drawn. Faramir walked to the south.

“Faramir.”

He started at Mablung’s hiss. Running, he reached the man as Damrod joined them.

“There is a fire over this hillock. See the smoke? Someone camps.”

“Be slow, Faramir.” Damrod held his shoulder. “We know not who it is.”

Faramir stopped. “Caution I know.” He climbed the gentle slope. “Rohirrim,” he whispered when Mablung and Damrod joined him.

“Then we are safe.” Mablung began to stand, but Faramir held him back.

“Wait. Let us see who leads this group and why they are in Gondor uninvited.”

A sentry came close to the hillock and all three ducked. When he passed, Faramir raised his head. “Théodred,” he muttered. “Look. By that tent.”

The Marshal of Rohan stretched. The firelight shone on the Rohir’s blonde hair. The man called to someone by the fire and the distance was not so great. Faramir’s shocked groan, stifled by Mablung’s hand, responded as Théodred asked for more water for Boromir.

Faramir’s anger rose. He stood and marched forward, pushed the sentry aside, and charged into the camp. “You hold my brother captive?” he shouted. “What is this evil?”

Théodred’s chin caught the brunt of Faramir’s fist. He staggered backwards. Not one breath passed before Faramir was grappled to the ground by five Horse Lords.

“What ails you, Faramir? The world is all grown strange indeed when ally attacks ally.” Théodred rubbed his chin. “We are the cause of your brother’s rescue. He lies in yonder tent.”

Faramir pulled at the arms holding him. “Let me see him!”

“If you promise not to strike me again, I will order your release.”

“I will not strike. I beg your pardon. Why keep you Boromir from Gondor? From his home? From those who love him?”

Théodred motioned and the guards released Faramir. At Théodred’s urging, the Gondorian sat by the fire. The Rohir sat next to him. A guard handed them both flasks of ale.

“We rescued him from the rógin,” Théodred began, “and brought him here. I would not move him further for his wounds are many.”

Faramir rose in fright.

“Nay. He is well-tended. Think you the Men of the Mark so cruel as to leave him suffering?”

“Forgive me.” Faramir sat back on the rock. “Speak. I wish to learn from you more of it; for what concerns Boromir concerns me.”

“A band of rógin³ stole six of our women six months ago. We followed, found one discarded by the side of the road and buried her. When we found the cave, we discovered Boromir captive.”

“What did they do to my brother?”

“Unspeakable things.”

“I wish to see him.”

“He has some fear of you. I know not why.”

“I do. I must see him. Speak to him.” Faramir rose.

Théodred took his arm. “Be gentle, Faramir. He is dear to me.”

“Is he not more dear to me? I would see him. Alone.”

Théodred led him to the tent, opened the flap, and Faramir stopped.

Chapter Thirteen

Boromir could hear the strained voices. He could not hear the words. But he knew, by the Valar, he knew who stood outside his tent. Tears fell in great swaths, running down the sides of his head and drenching his hair. Frantically, he looked about, fear clenching his very muscles into rigidity.

He cannot find me. What am I to do?

Rustling sounded from the back of the tent.

“My Lord.” Damrod ducked under the canvas and crawled to Boromir’s side. “We have come to rescue you.” Mablung joined him but a moment later.

“They are at the entrance. Hurry, Damrod, I cannot walk.”

“Never fear. We will carry you.”

Each took an arm and half-dragged Boromir under the canvas and out into the shadows.

“Hurry.” Boromir’s fear helped him stand. Damrod and Mablung, however, would not let him go.

“If you fall,” Damrod hissed into Boromir’s ear, “we will be discovered. Swallow your pride, my lord, and let us help you.”

Boromir’s arms and legs grew limp at the truth in Damrod’s statement. “Lead me on.”

They ran deep into the trees.

Boromir bit his lip, trying to stifle the moans that screamed through his body. Tears fell, but this time, they were tears of pain. I will not last another moment. His body shook as the fires of abuse pummeled him.

“Only a little further, my lord. Our horses are on the other side of this rise.” Mablung held him a little tighter.

“What of Faramir?” Damrod asked as they climbed the mound. “Will the Rohirrim hold him?”

“Have… no fear… for Faramir.” Boromir could not spare breath to speak.

The horses stood at ease. Mablung helped Damrod put Boromir on his horse. “I will hold you. I think you too weak to stay ahorse by yourself.”

Boromir did not reply, saving his strength to hold on until Mablung settled behind him. The warmth of the man eased his spirit. For a brief moment, he felt safe. And loved.

Mablung clicked and the horse started forward. “Faramir will know we head back to Minas Tirith. He will find us, my lord.”

Boromir swallowed. I will stop them from taking me back, but only after we move far from Théodred. And Faramir.

He closed his eyes at the smell emanating from the man. So different from the… another pain-filled swallow… the Drúin. And the Rohirrim. The smell of Gondor and soldiering and the city. To be home again. He damned his own weakness. He could not return to Minas Tirith. Especially now. Now that he had been violated and ruined. He didn’t suppose he could ever… It is fitting. Useless, as I should be. The Valar have taken their revenge on my twisted thoughts. He sobbed and Mablung held him a little tighter.

“It will be well, my lord Boromir. Your father awaits your return. Their will be a feast laid out.”

He misunderstands, Boromir thought, but there was no relief in the thought. Better he continues this confusion. I must break away from them. Somehow. But his head hurt and his eyes closed. He fought to keep them open, but there was no hope. His body could no longer endure the harsh treatment of the last hour.

“We will wait a little further along the road,” Damrod said. “Faramir will not forgive us if we leave without him. He was waited too long to be denied Lord Boromir’s presence.”

Boromir stirred, fighting to stay awake. “Must… not…. wait.”

“Have no fear, my lord. The Rohirrim will not find us. Faramir will hide his tracks.”

He struggled, struggled to release Mablung’s hold and flee, flee from his brother. He cried out in despair.

“My lord, please do not struggle. You will only injure yourself further.”

Boromir’s body screamed in agony. The short struggle had exhausted every bit of strength he had left. He slumped forward. He heard Mablung say, “Sleep while you may,” before he lost consciousness.

Chapter Fourteen

“Is this some taunt? Some wizardry?” Faramir’s eyes blazed in fury. “Where is Boromir?” The tent was empty. A cot lay with covers disheveled.

Théodred stepped through and swore. “By Bema’s balls!” He strode back out the entrance shouting loudly. “I want him found. Now!”

The camp flew into chaos. Horses were mounted and riders set out, hooves thundering, dust billowing.

“Make haste to declare yourself, Rohir!” Faramir stepped in front of Théodred. “What have you done with Boromir, for I know he was here. And know you, I abhor riddles.”

“Faramir. Come with me.” Théodred put his hand on Faramir’s shoulder, but the boy shrugged it off. “To Boromir’s tent. For I swear on Bema’s name, Boromir was safe within just a moment before you entered.”

Faramir walked in front of the Rohir and ducked, entering the tent and turning quickly to guard his back.

“Be still and listen to me, Faramir. There is more here than I understand. Yet,” Faramir felt Théodred’s eyes bore into him, “you know of what I speak.”

“I know nothing. I know Boromir was here and you have spirited him off.”

“If so, why would I give him his sword?”

“I… I do not understand.”

“His scabbard and sword, and his dagger, are gone. We retrieved them from the Druin’s cave and brought them here. Would I let a prisoner take his sword? Would I arm an opponent? Faramir. What dread secret do you hold in your heart.”

Faramir turned. He could not look the Horse Lord in the face. “Nothing,” he whispered. “I know nothing.”

Théodred spoke into his ear. “I begin to surmise some of your reticence.”

Faramir felt the Rohir behind him, breathing so close the hairs on his neck stood. He kept his tongue as his body reacted in unseemly ways.

“I have known Boromir for some time, Farramir. I know his… tendencies. I have been with him.”

The low voice washed over his body. Faramir had all he could do to stand. “Fatigue. I am fatigued and would rest.”

“You are more than fatigued, little brother of my friend. My lover.”

“Stop. I will not listen.” Faramir made to turn but strong arms encased him. He struggled. “Leave me be.”

“When I have delved into the reason for my lover’s fear of you.”

“Boromir does not fear me. I am his brother and his most loyal friend.”

“Loyal. Until he asks for more than you are willing to give?”

“He asks nothing.”

“He runs from you. Tell me why, Faramir. What did you do?”

“I did nothing.” Faramir’s shoulders shook with sobs.

“Let me show you what you might have done.”

Faramir felt his hair being moved aside and a gentle kiss touch the back of his neck. His cock twitched. “Leave me.” He flinched at how miserable and whiny he sounded.

“In a moment. Or two.” Théodred ran his hands down Faramir’s sides.

The boy shivered and tried to pull away.

Théodred clasped him hard again. He pinched Faramir’s buds through his tunic. “You wear too much.”

“Leave… leave me. I do not want this.”

“Perhaps this will help you understand your brother better. Would you not want to understand Boromir?”

“I understand him.” Faramir shivered when a hand touched his groin.

“I think you want to understand him. I think you want to have him touch you as I do. I know he would touch you this way, if he felt you would accept him.”

“Accept him.” Faramir’s anger flared and the heat in his groin disappeared. He wrenched himself free. “None accept him as I do. He misunderstands. He gives me not the benefit of the doubt. He…” His words were stopped as Théodred grabbed the back of his head and pulled him close, thrusting his tongue between Faramir’s lips and groaning.

“Oh, sweet boy. Boromir told me you were exquisite.”

To be Continued

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