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Four Journeys (NC-17) Print

Written by Fawsley

01 September 2005 | 34096 words

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Part 4: Faramir's second journey

Fourth Age, late Spring 03

Aragorn had shouted at him, possibly not unnecessarily he had to admit to himself. It was not that the king had publically insulted his steward, it was more than that, something else that was beyond what Faramir could now bear. Shaken to his very core, the victim had disappeared to lick his wounds.

Sitting in the dark on the edge of the cold bed, he found himself to be shaking uncontrollably. Slowly his breathing was becoming more regular though the sickness in the pit of his stomach remained. Faramir knew that he had reached a crisis in his life and that only he could find a way out of what was happening to him, there was no-one else to turn to. He had brought himself here without really thinking, but now the realisation came to him that time and solitude would be the friends who might aid him to consider the matter deeply, what had happened, why, and what in the world he was going to do about it before his life totally collapsed around him.

Here he could be alone and think. Often he had been praised for his skill in perceiving the motives and actions of his fellow men, had been noted for his ability to consider carefully before acting, had been consulted for his wisdom in solving the problems of others. Now he would have to muster every talent he possessed to find a way out of the labyrinth in which he had become enmeshed. There was no-one else.




A silent song in his head. It gnawed at him like hunger.

With Boromir it had been different. There had been no knowledge of life without his brother, and ultimately never any question of to whom his love and his body would be given. Still he remembered with perfect clarity his first day of knowing.

A boy, tending his beloved pony at the stables. Suddenly, outside, the sound of men struggling against the power of a mighty horse, then a high-pitched unearthly scream, a scream he had never heard a horse utter before. Fascinated, terrified, drawn by an unknown force, Faramir had followed the noises. Scrambling to find a toe-hold upon the stout wooden wall he had craned his head to look into one of the small pens, had seen the snorting rearing stallion, smelt fear and lust and sex - though then he knew not what they were - watched as the stallion covered the quivering mare.

And as he witnessed the primal act, saw the heaving member plunge and plunge again like a leather arm into the depths of the mare, seen it emerge steaming and dripping, he had known that this was something he too wanted. Wanted to feel the power of the stallion, wanted to feel the pain of the mare. There was no shame, no disgust, but a perfect certainty.

A firm hand had pressed at his waist as he watched and as he looked up into Boromir's eyes he had known with whom he wanted to feel that power and that pain. He saw a new expression on Boromir's face as his brother's hand gently traced the line of his body, came at last to press and move upon his buttocks, a look he had not yet understood but which excited him, a look, he now knew so well, of danger and almost uncontrolled desire in his brother's eyes.

'Watch, little brother, keep watching...'

And like a note it had sounded in his mind. Like the string of a harp plucked hard and true, a note that never wavered, never faded. Throughout the years the note of his love for Boromir sang. Even now, it still sang.




There had been no note, no song, with Éowyn. With women it was different, he had told himself. She was not bloodkin, it could not be the same. But he knew that he lied. Even as he denied it, he knew that he lied. For by running into the arms of Éowyn he was running away, running in fear and dread, for the note had indeed stuck again, and this time it was his king that he desired.

The knowledge of his need had been instant and overwhelming. He had been called back from the darkness, had awoken to the stern pale blue eyes of a man he knew without question to be his king, a man to whom he knew he would utterly submit himself. But Faramir was no longer a child, no longer the innocent boy with no knowledge or understanding of morality but a man with full knowledge that this new need must also be impossible.

Aragorn was the king returned, victor of the War of the Ring, redeemer of the two kingdoms, no man in Middle-earth was more high, more patrician, more sublime. Even if he could hope to gain the love of so great a king, Faramir had lost everyone he had ever cared for and now could not risk another loss. The thought of his love being met only by rejection was too terrifying to contemplate, and so he had fled to Éowyn to dull the new note singing in his mind.

But this new note was not like the song of Boromir. It too did not waver, but this note grew in force until it threatened to consume him. Was this, he wondered, how it had felt to be possessed by the One Ring? Would it bewitch his entire being until he was left twisted and withered like Gollum? Each day was a battle against the power that threatened to throw him at Aragorn's feet in a protestation of adoration and a pleading to be taken.

Faramir built a wall around himself. Outside he struggled on with his life as best he could, inside he fought to control his demon. But darkness breached the wall and each night was filled with lurid dreams and desires for his king and each day he awoke to find his defences weakened.

And then he had seen that look again, the look he had seen in Boromir's eyes at the stables, a look of danger and desire. But this time he saw it in Aragorn's eyes. Terrified, Faramir's defences had almost fallen, but somehow he had managed to hold on. His worst fears were recognised, for the awfulness of unrequited need was as nothing compared to that of seeing what he had so desired yet being too scared to respond. He had lost too much. He could not risk losing again, risk hurting again.

Faramir became as ice, his very heart was frozen.




But now it was as if an arrow had pierced his soul. Aragorn had shouted at him.

He did not feel the sting of the words themselves but knew instead the forces behind their venom, recognised despair, love, anger, frustration, need and deep compassion, forces that perhaps Aragorn himself did not fully comprehend. He had felt keenly the pain of another that his own withdrawal had caused and the ice had shattered around him.

Only once had he quarrelled with Boromir, at supper that evening when he first gave himself to his brother. It had hardly even been a quarrel, but harsh words that had preluded action. The act had healed them, united them into one being.

Only once had he quarrelled with Aragorn, and he knew now with clarity that he would give himself to his king, that only by this could he heal the anguish he had caused them both to suffer. It was Faramir's way of moving forward, and it was time for a new journey to begin.

A vigil for the dead, a vigil for Boromir. Time and solitude had done their work.

The clear note of his brother's love would sing forever, but now he had a different song, a song of love for the living. His fear of being hurt had only brought him pain, had brought Aragorn pain, and already he was indeed as wretched as Gollum, a slave to his own misery. Better to love freely and risk being hurt than to store up that love until it twisted and soured into something that destroyed his entire life. He knew there was a path before him, though he was unsure whether he would be able to keep to the road and not stumble. There was so much to leave behind in order to make this journey, so much before him to overcome. He could but try.

'Love you Brom' he whispered. Then he arose from Boromir's cold empty bed, stood motionless in the darkness to honour the memories that clung like cobwebs in that silent place, and walked out to face his fate.

A scent on the air. Aragorn was there.




Aragorn had found him, had drawn him out and given him food and offered him love in the darkness of the benighted citadel.

Shutting his chamber door firmly behind him, Faramir leant back and tried to call his reeling emotions into some semblance of order. Having fought so long to keep control of his life, he now felt as if he had no hold at all on what was happening to him, everything was moving so fast that he felt almost sick from it all. The glorious and somehow expected shock of finding Aragorn waiting for him outside Boromir's chamber had lessened, but that of finally hearing his king's declaration of love and desire still coursed through him.

They had spoken of intimate, private matters, had spoken words that had teased them both to an arousal they could not yet fulfil. And they had kissed! Not deeply, not for long, but full of a meaning that neither could misinterpret. It would have been so very easy to have asked Aragorn to stay, even to have called him back after he had walked away, but Faramir still felt a need to step back and consider what was happening, not to rush. He felt sure that they would become lovers soon, within days perhaps, weeks at most. Aragorn had said he was prepared to wait and had promised to give Faramir all the time he needed to understand and accept their love. Once before Faramir had waited, waited for Boromir. He could wait again to give himself to his king.




Having bathed Faramir now sprawled naked in the great chair before his chamber fireplace, remembering, imagining. Being with Aragorn had excited him and now he sat stroking his erection, one leg thrown over an arm of the chair, admiring himself and thinking of what he had done with that cock to Boromir, what he would so like to do with it to Aragorn.

His sexuality was a skill and he continually honed it to the very zenith of perfection, rejoicing in every act he performed. Faramir could not help but adore his body and glory in his urges and prowess. A stallion's prick, Boromir had called it. It was what he had wanted, it was what he had got, and he had used it repeatedly on lovers ranging from his own elder brother to the thrilling tightness of a servant's teenaged brat. He had never subjected an unwilling brat to the demands of his prick, but a willing one that hungered for it could be so sweet.

Edrill was just seventeen when the boy's father had offered him to Faramir as a body servant, a little less than the age he himself had been when he had first given himself to Boromir. Yet Edrill had seemed still a boy in comparison with the man Faramir had been then, smooth and slight rather than muscled and strong, the difference between a brat raised only to satisfy his master's urges and the warrior trained to lead in battle.

Encouraged by Boromir, Faramir had been unable to resist the offer and had been assured that Edrill was most willing, had been long prepared for this duty and wished only to fulfil his master's needs. Edrill was happy to perform the light tasks that Faramir assigned to him: drawing his bath, washing him, combing his hair, dressing him, all accompanied by long, deep kisses whilst Faramir fondled the youth's genitals, but nothing more. He was however allowed to attend Faramir when he was with one of his lovers - sometimes Boromir, sometimes not - gently and seductively oiling his master then watching as Faramir fucked and was fucked in turn. Knowing that Edrill watched only increased the force of Faramir's orgasm.

At last, on a night such as this when Faramir had sat before the fire, Edrill had come to him, silent and naked, had crouched between his master's parted legs, watching as Faramir pulled at his prick, watching it grow ever thicker, looking into his eyes with such desperate longing that Faramir had moaned. Tenderly Edrill had kissed and licked Faramir's inner thighs, sucked at his heavy balls, working his way ever closer to the proud cock. Faramir grasped himself tightly to prevent his untimely climax, pushed his hips forward to the edge of the seat so as to improve both his view and the boy's access to the glory that was Faramir. Then Edrill had taken that great hardness between his hands and guided it towards his lips, his eyes never leaving those of his master.

'Edrill, how many cocks has your mouth pleasured?'

'None, my lord, save for my father who taught me the art so that I might serve you.'

Somewhere deep within him a shiver of horror rose up at Edrill's words, but Faramir's rational mind was overpowered by his lust and any repugnance was defeated. Faramir moaned again, watching with fascination. He had grasped the blond head, working it back and forth to force himself deeper into the willing wetness, thrilling as Edrill gagged, reaching a shuddering climax that filled Edrill's mouth to overflowing. Faramir had pulled the golden-haired boy to his lap and kissed him deeply, relishing the taste of his own seed.

Night after night Faramir had plundered Edrill's mouth. At first he had refused to repeat the act, but then the lad had begged until Faramir was unable to resist. Faramir remembered his own forbidden and unfulfilled lust for Boromir at that age, remembered how he had wanted so much to take his brother deep into his throat, and could not deny Edrill the satisfaction he so craved. But still Edrill wanted more. Faramir knew it, and was increasingly powerless to resist it.

Edrill had chosen the night and had seduced his master as skilfully as any whore. He had silently relieved Faramir of his clothes then run his hands across the older man's strong body, following each stroke with his agile tongue. Then he had begun to stroke and caress himself, head thrown back and eyes closed in pleasure as Faramir watched all from his seat on the edge of the bed. Slowly spreading oil between his smooth buttocks, the youth knew that his actions could not fail to bring his lord to a throbbing engorgement that must find release. As Edrill's hands slipped and slithered over his own skin, Boromir had arrived unannounced, had stood silently beside Faramir to watch the seductive performance. Slowly he too had stripped, kissed his little brother deeply, then knelt to take a long suck on Faramir's erection.

'Edrill has the sweetest mouth' Faramir had commented.

'And a peach of an arse' added Boromir admiringly as he surfaced. 'Have you split it open yet?'

'No, but the peach is ripe to be plucked and I would taste of its flesh this night.'

Faramir beckoned his servant towards him.

'Come, Edrill. It is time.'

Edrill was made to sit facing Faramir upon his lap, legs wrapped around his master's waist, before being pulled close and kissed hard, both thrilling as their cocks were crushed together between their bodies.

'Let me prepare him for you, Fara.'

Boromir knelt before his brother, parting the smooth globes of Edrill's arse and began to tongue an opening so tiny and so tight he could scarce discover it. As Faramir explored Edrill's mouth so Boromir's kisses tasted his unexplored depths, tongue working fiercely against the resistance of the untried body. Faramir ground his hardness into the boy's stomach, biting his neck, feeling Edrill tremble as now Boromir's fought to open him for the first time.

'He resists my fingers, little brother.'

'Then oil him and stretch him, I have to have him, Brom.'

Edrill was shaking uncontrollably, moaning loudly and begging in a hypnotised monotone for his master to take him.

'Hush, Edrill, hush and I shall give you all that you desire.'

Boromir had kept his fingers working deep inside Edrill as Faramir urged the lithe young body to lift and poise above his erection, then Boromir had steadied the pulsing cock as his brother slowly lowered Edrill onto his thick length. Faramir fell back in ecstacy at the tightness that enclosed him, collapsing onto the bed and pulling Edrill down towards him. Then Boromir climbed up to kneel beside them on the bed, the youth's gasping mouth now within easy reach of his own desperate erection.

'Let me silence his screams, little brother.'

And so Boromir also had learned of Edrill's skill, had come hard, bruising the boy's mouth as his brother pounded into the shuddering young boy he held, splitting open the ripe peach, a sweet juice of blood and mucus, shit and semen oozing from the devastated body.




'My lord?'

Faramir awoke hard and desperate from his lurid reverie to find a golden figure before him, his beautiful body-servant, also naked, also aroused, his pierced nipples linked by a short chain which branched and ran down to a cruelly studded leather cock-ring bearing Faramir's coat of arms and cutting deep into the erect flesh.

'My lord, you know I live only to comfort you.'

The voice was hot with need. Faramir grasped the short chain and drew the hungry man towards him, forcing his head down to feast on his erection before dragging him to the bed where he proceeded to take and be taken. Riding that bucking cock as the studded ring cut into his tender hidden flesh, yanking the chain to harden further the bruised and bleeding nipples, Faramir was brought to a divine fulfilment only possible from long years of intimacy. They lay together in exhaustion as the dawn light crept through the casement.

'Edrill, you are indeed ever a comfort to me.'




'What happened to you when I had to send you away? I have not asked before though I should have done. Were you alone?'

Edrill lay with his head on his master's solid stomach, lapping at the twitching erection that lay before his mouth when Faramir felt the need to push the blond head downwards, to feel himself enveloped in wetness.

'At first I was very alone. I didn't know where to go or who to turn to. I ended up many nights drinking at a sordid den named the Chained Tree, down between the first and second levels. I thought at first to find mindless release there, thought to buy a boy and take him as you had once taken me, so as to feel some sort of contact with you again. I didn't know of course that you would be able to recall me at length, I thought I would not be able to service my lord's body ever again.'

Faramir knew the Chained Tree. Forgotten memories rose up unchecked from the depths of his mind like orcs from a hell-pit, orcs that he might not be strong enough to vanquish. His head forced brutally downwards, Edrill took Faramir's taut purple cock deep into his mouth and sucked hard until his master's hot release flooded his throat.

Faramir's hands relaxed and at last Edrill was encouraged to continue with his story.

'Each night I would go there, drink, watch, but did not yet take. I didn't know that I too was being watched. Then a man approached me, spoke kindly to me. We talked for many hours and I knew that I wanted to see him again, to be with him. His name is Astermal. We became lovers.'

Faramir felt the wetness of Edrill's silent tears upon his groin.

'You miss him very much?'

'Yes. I have not seen him since my lord called me back.'

'Astermal. Astermal... My brother once had a body-servant of that name.'

'He is the same, my lord. He misses Lord Boromir greatly. We found a shared excitement at our both having been our lords' servants. And of course I was blessed with having pleasured you both.'

'Do you regret the life you have been given?'

Edrill thought for long moments before replying, almost as if he had never before considered the question.

'It is all I have ever known. I cannot remember a time when I did not know that I was destined to serve you, or how I was to serve you. My father began to train me many years before I came to you, ensuring that my mouth would bring you pleasure. I cannot remember when I did not take him into my mouth to learn how to give pleasure and was rewarded by drinking of his seed.'

Deep within Faramir's mind a long-suppressed horror of what had been done, what *he* had done, to the golden youth writhed and grew. An unbidden image - a sick fantasy of how it might have been had his own father Denethor used him as Edrill's father had done - gathered strength and rose up, powerful now.

For the first time, Faramir felt physical disgust at what had been done to Edrill, sick at how he himself had contributed towards warping the young mind until it understood and craved only pain and abuse. The wounds were not simply those caused by the traditional piercings and chains of a body-servant, they ran deep into the victim's very soul.

What had he done? And how could he ever make amends? It was beyond Faramir's comprehension to even begin to think how he could rectify what he had inflicted upon the young man he held within his arms.

'You were so very young when I first took you. I hurt you badly. Your screams haunted me for days.'

'I thought you had killed me and I screamed because I did not wish to die and never to feel you inside me again. All I wanted was for you to enter me and use me. I wanted to feel you rip me and make me bleed so that I truly belonged to you as I had always been told you must. All my life until then had been spent working towards that moment, and when it came not only did you tear me open but also Lord Boromir used my mouth. Truly I thought I had died of pleasure when it should have been I who was giving not receiving it.'

Faramir held Edrill tighter to him, horrified even further by the twisted recollections of what in reality had been a scene of sickening depravity. Faramir saw the truth for the first time, and he was disgusted with himself.

'No Edrill, you were made to believe that. By your father and then by myself. All your young life you were made to believe that. It was not true. Boromir and I, we spent all that night raping you, repeatedly raping you. There was no pleasure for you, only pain and torment. It was wrong, very wrong. I understand that now.'

The golden youth said nothing, but a tear escaped from his eye and tracked slowly down his cheek. Faramir found a hand and held it tightly, his own emotions tangled and confused.

'Edrill, you know that I do not love you?'

'My lord, I have never sought your love. It is not my place to do so. My life, my work has only ever been to meet the needs of your body, not your heart. From childhood I knew that love was not part of that work. Yet I believe, my lord, that we share a friendship that is unusual between a body-servant and his master.'

Faramir raised Edrill's hand to his lips and kissed it in reply.
'You did not know of true love until you met Astermal?'

Edrill was quiet and still. Faramir stroked his long fair hair. Fair hair... Surely there must be the blood of Rohan in Edrill's veins, but how and why Faramir had never before paused to consider. A child of the wild horse-lords confined within a cruel prison of stone and sex. He had already freed one such captive.

'Would you go to him if I released you?'

'Yes, oh yes! But I know that cannot be. I am bound to my lord. I exist only to serve his needs.'

'No, no - you *must* stop believing that. It is wrong, was always wrong, and I think you know that in your heart.'

Faramir was finding it hard enough to understand the thoughts tumbling through his mind, let alone put them into words to convince another.

'Love and sex are different things. Both can exist without the other. Both can be good and fulfilling without the other. We know that, you and I. And I think we have both now learned that when love and sex are found together then, oh Edrill it is beyond words what happens then. You have found that with Astermal, have you not?'

Edrill nodded, his lips playing over the head of Faramir's cock, his tongue dipping into the moist slit, but this time Faramir gently lifted Edrill's head away and up onto his chest, continually stroking as he would when gentling a trembling horse.

'And I too have found it also. For the first time. With a man whom I know will satisfy the deepest needs of both my heart and my body.'

'But my lord, you loved Lord Boromir so very much! You say this is for the first time - I do not understand your meaning...'

'Yes, of course I loved Boromir, loved him beyond reason, but he was my brother. There was never any question of my not loving him, for me it was natural. But now I have *fallen* in love for the first time and it is terrifying. I have never faced such a force before, not even when I was lost in the darkness. It is a power that grows until it overwhelms and I am unable to resist it. I must be with him, whatever the cost, whatever the consequence.'

Edrill hauled himself upwards to lie face to face with his master. Despite their friendship such an intimate discussion was unusual and Edrill was aware that matters of great consequence were being raised.

'I am glad for you, my lord. None deserves the joy of love more than you. So long I have known you to be unhappy and have grieved because of it, known that your use of my body alone has not brought you the true satisfaction you need.'

Faramir kissed him gently, spoke tenderly.

'Listen to me. I have learned how important it is to grasp love when it is offered, to accept it, not to fear or reject it. To dare to love. I want you to have that chance also. I release you from your bond as my body-servant and give you your freedom. Go to Astermal, love him, be happy together. You have my blessing. I release you, Edrill.'

Edrill now wept with shocked joy at his release, with sadness at the thought of parting from his master.

'You are sure, my lord?'

'Most sure.'

The kiss they exchanged was unlike any that had passed between them before.

'Ever I have taken what I have desired from you, thought only of my own needs, forced you to comply. Let this morning be yours. Take from me what you will, use me as I have used you in whatever way you desire.'

Slowly, his eyes never leaving Faramir's own, Edrill unfastened the cock-ring from its chain and undid the tight binding thongs to reveal the bloodied inner studs. Faramir half-feared, half-hoped, that Edrill was going to use it upon himself but instead the youth let it fall to the floor, gasping at the freedom of its release, then he opened the rings in his nipples and - wincing - withdrew them from their swollen holes, taking Faramir's hand and coaxing it to massage the marks of cruelty upon his body. Then he turned to nestle back into Faramir's embrace, curling up like the child he once was, wrapping around him the arms of the man who had for so long been his master.

'Just hold me. Let me sleep in your arms and awake there also. Just hold me.'

Now at last Faramir wept as he held his former body-servant close, kissing the golden hair and stroking Edrill's head, wept for the long years of sexual slavery he had imposed upon the boy and the man, the humiliation and depravity he had been forced to endure, moved by his simple request to be held, moved by half-forgotten memories stirring at the edges of his mind.

'I'm sorry, Edrill, sorry for everything. I can never ask for your forgiveness.'

'There is nothing to forgive, my lord. Nothing.'

'I shall miss you.'

'As I shall miss you, but I shall always be there for you when you need me. Always. You need only call. We shall be there for each other.'

'Edrill, I was wrong, I was not truthful to you.'

Faramir had to admit something to Edrill, the conscious awareness of which had only just awoken.

'I do love you.'

'I know. And I love you too. I have from the moment my father first brought me to you. I will always love you, Faramir. Now go to sleep.'


When Faramir awoke, he was alone, and he knew that when next he lay with Edrill it would not be as a master abusing his body-servant but that they would be equal lovers whose unspoken understanding of each other was immeasurable.

An understanding which almost approached that he had shared with his own brother...

A seed of doubt, however small, can burrow into the very foundations of the strongest belief, grow cunning and twisted and bring the whole edifice crashing to the ground.

Alone now in his great bed, reminded of the bond with his brother, Faramir panicked.

How much did Aragorn know about the incestuous love he had shared with Boromir? He had known enough to find Faramir's sanctuary. Did he know how the brothers had not only broken Gondor's strictest moral boundary but shattered it?

Surely he must, for there were still those at Minas Tirith who had been aware of what had occurred. It must even be recorded somewhere in documents that Aragorn would be free to peruse...

Surely he could not know, for how could he then still want Faramir, the high steward who had broken the great taboo, not once, not twice, but repeatedly, for years?

And if he did not know, then how was Faramir going to tell him, for tell him he must. There was no possibility of being with Aragorn and keeping it secret. And with the confession of the relationship would no doubt inevitably come the confession of just how violent and depraved it had been. How would he deal with Aragorn's reaction and inevitable horrified rejection?

It was hopeless. He had been a fool to have ever thought he could succeed. How could Aragorn possibly love him when he knew the full truth? Knew that his own brother had been his lover? Knew of Faramir's need for sexual violence, his weakness for giving and receiving pain?

In his grief for his stupidity and for what could now never be, Faramir howled like an injured dog.




The Chained Tree. He'd not been there for years, had in fact forgotten about it in the confusion of events during and since the war, but Edrill's words had reawoken lurid memories. A need he had thought dead had reared up inside him, a desire for certain of the sordid services provided by that particular establishment. His guilt over the life he had imposed upon Edrill had blackened his mind and he sought some sort of punishment for his deeds.

Reverting to such practices now when Aragorn had declared his own love for Faramir would be tantamount to rejecting a great jewel given freely and paying instead for the foul and fetid spawn of Morgoth. But then Aragorn would no longer want him anyway when he knew the truth of his steward's past.

Faramir hated himself and the mess he had made of his life. Such stupidity should only be punished.




The alleyways running between the first and second levels still bore the scars of invasion and bombardment. A squalid shanty town had built up amongst the half-ruined buildings but the Chained Tree had survived almost intact. Typical that such a place should stand when so much that had been good had been lost - the Chained Tree catered only for baser instincts. Whether the owner realised his true identity the steward did not wish to contemplate. He outlined his requirements for the evening, partook of the wine and delicacies offered by the management and then, when the darkened room was prepared, he entered.

His cock was hard against his stomach from the moment the door closed behind him. He could see nothing, hear nothing, but he knew they were there. The waiting was almost the worst part. Not knowing what was to come, from where or when, what form it would take, how many there would be, how long it would last, whether he would be able to stand the pain, whether he would survive. If their movements made any noise it was lost, drowned out by his thudding pulse and erratic breathing. For long moments he stood naked and vulnerable.

Then they were upon him.




What had he been thinking of?

The marks would stay upon his body for weeks. Five days now he had been lying face down naked on his bed, hardly able to move, tended only by the gentle ministrations of hands from the Houses of Healing, hands of a woman who had long ago tended to wounds he and Boromir had inflicted upon each other, who had kept their secrets then and would continue to do so. Perhaps she understood how deep suffering might engender a need for continued pain. She had been Éowyn's teacher when his wife had thought to become a healer. What confidences had passed between the two women? She said little, but Faramir saw compassion in her eyes and was grateful.

She had done her work well and the wounds were closed and healing, but the marks remained. As the woman turned to leave he grasped her hand and held it close.

'Thank you' he whispered.

The woman stroked his hand gently.

'It is up to you to heal yourself if you truly wish to find peace. Continue to rest, do not try to rise today, you are not yet strong enough. All that you need is in this room. I will return this evening.'


The weather had definitely improved during his confinement. A warm spring. Rebirth and renewal, a time to cleanse, yet all Faramir had achieved was a return to the evil of old ways, had reawoken only dark desires and had so easily given in to them, polluting and defiling both himself and his love for his king. Aragorn was by now no doubt desperate to know where he was and what his next step would be, but Faramir himself was lost, his sense of direction gone when it had once seemed so clear. His body was healing but his soul remained badly injured.

He wanted so much to be safe in Aragorn's arms but knew that he was unworthy and incapable of achieving that bliss. It would be best if he gave up this futile quest, best if he slipped quickly and quietly away back to his own home in Emyn Arnen. Aragorn had plenty of advisors, the post of steward was now little more than an honorary acknowledgement of what had been sacrificed with the return of the king. He was not indispensable. There was much work to be done in Ithilien, and Aragorn could not argue against the prince of that land returning home to see that it was carried out.

Dressing was not easy but not as difficult nor as painful as he had feared, though he became a little light-headed at times. Ranger garb, green and brown and grey, oilskin and leather. It moved with him, was part of him. Still he loved to wear it. Not for him the heavy steel armour that Boromir had rejoiced in, armour that had not, in the end, saved his brother's life.

'I failed, Brom.' there were tears in his eyes and on his cheeks 'I dare not love him, for how can he ever love me when he knows me for what I am? I was right to let Éowyn leave, right to release Edrill. Now I have to let go as well, let go of my love for Aragorn and remove myself from his sight. Father knew me for what I am, weak and worthless. How could I ever dare to hope for or expect the love of so great a king? What right do I have to that?'

Suddenly his head began to spin and his legs buckled under him. He reached out for the wall but it retreated before his outstretched hand as the tilting floor rushed up to meet him. But he did not fall. Strong arms he knew so well caught him, bore him up, lifted and carried him.

'You should be still abed, little brother. Back you go. Stay here and rest, rest until you are healed and ready to rise, not before.'

Deft fingers unloosed his clothing, ran lightly across his naked skin followed closely by endless kisses from tender lips. When they ceased Faramir opened his eyes to the vision before him. Boromir sat on the edge of the bed, relaxed and happy, whole and magnificently handsome, his blond hair shining and tumbling around his shoulders, grey-green eyes lit with numberless stars. He wore a robe of shifting colour and a corsage of unknown flowers whose perfume filled the room shone at his collar-bone. He stoked Faramir's hair back from his forehead, bent to kiss his mouth full and hard.

'Brom? Is it truly you?'

'Did you think I did not watch over you still, little brother?'

'You have not come before.'

'Oh Fara I have watched you suffer and falter but ever you have learned and ever I have been with you. Now you are forgetting your lessons. I cannot allow you to lose your way, you are so close and your path lies before you at your feet.'

'Are you always with me?'

'Always, little brother, always. I am with you as also I am with Aragorn. How else could he love you so much, how else could you love him so much? And it is your task once more to make the two halves whole. This is your destiny, you cannot deny it now. Doubt not your courage nor your strength, and do not defile the memory of our love with self-loathing and recrimination. Learn who you are, accept what you have become and know that you are deserving of all that is offered to you. Reach out and grasp it. Aragorn needs you and you need him, and you will find he understands more than you know. Still there will be sorrow, and ultimately there will be loss, but such is the bitterness of men. Remember that you are never alone. Even in your darkest hour Fara, I am with you and watch over you.'

'Love you, Brom.'

'And I love you beyond reason, little brother.'

The vision shimmered and folded at the edges.

'Don't leave me, Brom!'

Boromir laughed. 'How could I ever leave you Fara, when I *am* you? Where did you think I had gone?'


The healer came again as dusk fell, sat beside him and wondered at the change the day had wrought. A strength she had feared might not return, that of spirit rather than of body, was now almost tangible within the room. She touched the soft petals of the flowers lying on the pillow beside Faramir's head.

'For a lifetime have I studied the lore of herbs, yet I do not know these blossoms. They have a light and a fragrance that is strange to me. I cannot even name their colour! I think I see a far green country, white shores and the silver flash of seabirds' wings held within their drops of dew. Who brought them to you, my lord?'

But Faramir just smiled a secret smile as the safe arms of sleep enfolded him.




The faintest touch of rose on the far distant mountain tops heralded the approach of dawn. A new day had come. Faramir arose confident and strong, his path once more clear and shining before him. There was no doubt now in his mind, and his healing both of body and soul was nearly complete. Calm yet excited, he prepared himself to meet his king once more, to take his lover for the first time. And as well as the gift of his body, Faramir would give Aragorn the secret gift of the most beautiful spot in his entire kingdom, a green elfstone in island form.




He had seen wonder in Aragorn's face when they had reached the island and known that the king had instantly loved the place as intensely as he himself had done.

He had been concerned that the spring sunshine would prove weak and that the water would freeze him to the marrow, but when he plunged in it was a warm velvet welcome that washed the pale rags of winter from his body and his mind.

Where had those words come from about the day he had disappeared? Had he truly wanted Aragorn to find him that night? Yes, but he had not known it until now. Long suppressed laughter bubbled up from Faramir's heart as he rolled over to float on his back, staring up at the thin clouds and revelling in the awakenings that overwhelmed him. There was no fear, only joy.

A second splash and Aragorn was in the water also, swimming strongly towards him. For a moment he disappeared then shot up to resurface close by, shaking the water from his raven-dark hair, pale eyes reflecting the water's mysteries and Faramir's love.

'Two Númenorians overboard and out of their depth!' he laughed.

Faramir flipped over and swam into Aragorn's embrace, drew him closer as they trod water together.

'Only we can save each other' he murmured as their lips met and their nakedness touched for the first time.




Faramir had made himself suffer so much over the dread of Aragorn knowing, yet when the moment came there was no shame in admitting his incestuous love for Boromir for Aragorn had already understood and accepted the fact, and it was indeed right and good. What could Faramir do but love his king all the more? Would could he do but declare his adoration of Aragorn? Yet it had been Aragorn's mouth that had praised Faramir until the stars fell crashing down around them.

'Faramir, beloved, you are indeed thrice blessed.'

The steward made a questioning noise as he lay sated in the king's arms.

'Loved by your own brother, the most magnificent of Gondor's captains. Loved by an noble elf who has bestowed both light and life upon you. Loved by a lost king who waited long and travelled far to find you. Thrice blessed.'




Together they lay amongst the long grasses, watching the skies as Faramir ever loved to do, listening to the birdsong, speaking at times of the matter of their love, coming together to kiss and touch with an exquisite tenderness that was new to them both.

Aragorn lifted one of Faramir's wrists to his mouth and kissed it tenderly.

'These marks were not upon your body when last we met. I know the scars of shackles. There are other marks also. Do not think that I don't see them. There are evil bruises and welts here, and here...' Gently Aragorn's mouth touched each wound as he found it.

‘What happened, my love?’

Faramir took a deep breath before he spoke.

'I paid to be punished.'

'Punished? For what, beloved?'

'Many things. For loving Boromir when all but ourselves saw it as wrong.'

'It was not wrong.'

Faramir smiled this thanks for Aragorn's belief in him.

'For Boromir dying rather than myself. For everyone I knew who suffered and died in the war. For my father's inability to love me. I thought I also had that tendency.'

'No. Your ability to love is overwhelming, and that can be terrifying. That is all.'

Faramir nodded before continuing.

'Punishment for Éowyn, for using her as a shield to hide behind. But what I was hiding from was my love for you. How can a man hide from something that is himself?'

'He cannot.' Aragorn held Faramir gently, kissing his forehead.

'For fearing my love for you. For not accepting your love for me when you offered it. And I think most of all, punishment for Edrill. What I did to him for so long.'

'Who is Edrill?'

'He was my body-servant. You asked me to release him and I have done so. He came to me when he was still almost a child. For years I used him to satisfy myself, hurt him appallingly. Yet he never stopped loving me.'

Faramir was openly weeping, shaking as the tears coursed from his eyes. Aragorn drew him ever closer, letting Faramir continue as and when he could.

'I could not even admit that I loved him, not until right at the very end. When I released him I offered him my body to abuse however he wanted as weregild for what I had stolen from him. And all he wanted to do was to sleep safely in my arms. Oh Aragorn it was awful! Beautiful but truly awful!'

And Faramir broke down completely and howled his grief once more.

'I paid...Paid for it. Paid to be punished for what I had done to everyone else. I think I also wanted to hurt my body so badly that you would no longer want me, I felt so unworthy of your love. I was so scared that when you knew the truth about me you would no longer want me, and I could not face that rejection.'

'When was this, my beloved?'

No man could have been more tender or loving than Aragorn.

'A few days after we spoke together in the night and you told me that you loved me. I was so scared that when you found out the truth about me you would hate me and reject me. It took over a week to heal. I went back and hid in Brom's chamber again.'

'Oh gods! That's where you were all that time! My love I was desperate for you but dared not come looking for you because I had promised to give you time. Oh my Faramir, what have I let you do to yourself?'

Aragorn wept, and their tears and griefs mingled as they held on to each other like drowning men.

'No man is more worthy of my love than you, my Faramir. Yes, I desire you because you are beautiful, your body calls to me and I am unable to resist its temptations. But that is not the only reason why I love you, and love you most deeply. You are strong and loyal and wise and kind. My most courageous of warriors. You understand me as no other has ever done, support and encourage me. You make me laugh, make me think, make me humble, make me proud.

'No two men could love Gondor and Minis Tirith as we both do, and that is a bond that can never be broken. We have both suffered so much but we both continue to learn from that suffering, to put it aside and move onwards. Your bravery overwhelms me. You are noble and gracious and the king of my heart. Yet there is a secret wildness within you which both arouses and scares me, something unknown that I would have totally possess me.

'And...' Aragorn laughed as he brushed Faramir's tangled hair from his shining eyes '...you are incredibly beautiful.'

'I have moved onwards' Faramir admitted. 'There was darkness and despair but I have come safely to the light on other side. I was called from the darkness by someone I love and who loves me.'

He gave a slight grin in response to a querying look from Aragorn.

'No, not you this time. So much of my pain, both in my heart and in my mind, was of my own devising. I have, rightly or wrongly, been punished for it and it has gone. I am free of it and it shall not return to haunt me or to haunt us. I had to be rid of it before I could truly accept your love and give myself to you.'

Faramir wondered whether Aragorn could possibly hold him any tighter. Slowly he moved, extricating himself from the grip, his own mouth seeking that veiled somewhere beneath the dark curtain of hair. Their kiss was as tentative as that they had shared in the night outside Faramir's chamber door.

'Will you swim with me again? Will you help wash these tears away?'




They lazed together once more, spread out on the rough saddle-blankets, Faramir nearly asleep in the afternoon heat, hypnotised by Aragorn's low wordless song as the king's hands moved over his body, seeking wounds, calling upon what healing power he could to soothe them.

'You said you were called from the darkness of your despair by one who loves you and whom you love?'

Faramir had wondered how long Aragorn could resist asking that question.

'Brom came to me. Spoke to me, kissed me, put me back onto the path I had missed. Gave me back to you.'

'Bless you, Boromir. A most princely gift you have bestowed upon me, this gift of your brother. I love you more dearly now than I did in life.'

Faramir laughed joyfully as Aragorn had not heard for the longest time.

'He is not gone. He is ever with me, watching over me. Fara and Brom - not even death could ever part us! He left me flowers beyond description that do not fade. Their sweet dew is still fresh and holds a vision of the a far green country within its depths.'

'Ah! Then it is true what the elves have said, that Boromir sailed onwards across the sea and came at last to the Undying Lands, for where else could such blossoms be found? There is peace and gladness in my heart at this news.'

'And mine.'

'Fara... Fara.'

Aragorn was trying out the name, Faramir could see he was cautious about using it.

'Your Fara now.'

And Aragorn kissed him again.




He had not felt so whole, so complete since he had been with Boromir, and then it had been different. Not better, but different. He ran his hands over Fanuilos's creamy coat, whispering to her as she nuzzled an apple from his hand. The mare had been a marriage gift from Éomer, one that the king of Rohan had refused to accept back when Éowyn had returned to Edoras, insisting that his love and friendship for his brother-in-law remained undimmed.

The power of horses had ever aroused Faramir. He loved the way they moved, so much muscle, so much grace, so much gentleness. Roheryn nudged until he also received an apple then pawed at the ground, asking for more. Faramir stroked both their wise heads, kissing their noses, laughing as Fanuilos kissed him wetly back. As he walked back to Aragorn through the long grass he felt the power of beasts rushing through his veins.




'This place to which you have brought me will ever be the most precious spot within my kingdom, the place where we first knew each others bodies. It is sacred to me, as you are also.'

Faramir could not speak with words, he could only let the love in his heart shine in his eyes, confident that Aragorn could read them well. The king came closer, his hands once more stroking and soothing Faramir's skin, his mouth working at each tender spot on throat and neck. Faramir wanted it to last forever.

'Fara, my Fara...'

Aragorn's mouth moved upwards, lips grazing lips, then parted only to seal around Faramir's own, tongues tangling against each other. Aragorn's kisses grew in number and in force and were returned in kind. Sinuously their limbs entwined, hands and mouths working to arouse the other that was now almost one and the same.

'You are utter temptation, my steward!'

A moment's hesitation. Poised on the brink, the deep breath before the plunge, Faramir knew that the moment had come at last.

'Love you, Aragorn. I am yours to command.'

'Faramir, I would ask something of you...'

'Anything, you know it.'

'Take me!' Aragorn's whisper was urgent 'Please, I beg of you!'

So many nights he had envisaged this moment. Now it had arrived he hardly knew where to start. Faramir groaned, but Aragorn's pleading desire was all the impetus he required.

'Shhh. I will give you all that you want and more. Lay back, relax. Let me possess you.'

He wanted to take this as slowly as he could, to work Aragorn from motionless compliance to wild thrashing abandon, and to make it endless. He wanted to know Aragorn completely.

'Relax, my love.'

He rolled one of the saddle-blankets into a neat bolster, asked Aragorn to raise himself then slipped it under the king's hips. Faramir was presented with a visual feast of Aragorn's sexuality. For a moment he was unsure whose mighty cock it was that rose twitching and oozing before him. The twin of his own, yet not his own, for it throbbed to a different rhythm.

'Aragorn, we are made alike!' he hissed. Faramir ran his thumb over the slit, watched the king's member jump in anticipation. Long had he subjected others to the size and fury of his prick, the gorgeous power of his great stallion's prick. Today, for the first time, he would suffer the same agonies. But first...

He licked Aragorn slowly from root to tip, his tongue quite dry before the end of the long stroke. Aragorn lay beneath him, head held upwards to watch. Quickly Faramir bundled the other blanket into a pillow before leaning over to kiss Aragorn for so very long that to end seemed impossible, his tongue slowly exploring, lips soft and tender, yet his fingers subjecting one of Aragorn's nipples then the other, to tantalising torture, pinching, pulling, twisting until the king broke away from the kiss to gasp in pain. Then Faramir returned to his banquet.

Again he licked the pulsing cock. He would never be able to get enough of that, he knew, but there were other temptations on display also. He took one of the heavy velvet balls between his lips, sucking it into his mouth then teasing it gently with his tongue. Aragorn was moaning, his fingers pleasuring his own nipples now that Faramir had other business to attend to. Faramir released the ball from its wet prison and neatly replaced it with the other, subjecting it to the same treatment. Gently he sucked and tongued, the sound of Aragorn's low groans urging him towards a rougher treatment, but it was an urge he overcame except for a momentary threat by his teeth.

'Yes! Bite me!' Aragorn had whispered, but his desire had been denied.

Easing the scrotum from between his lips, Faramir covered it again with long licks that once more extended to the full length of Aragorn's cock. Faramir's cock had been swallowed whole often enough, even Edrill when young had managed that, but he was himself daunted at the prospect of taking so great a prick into his own mouth, however much he wanted it. But Faramir must taste the source of his pain, must feast on the cock that was to fuck him, so must open his throat to this terrible power. His lips trembled as he lapped at the dripping slit before sliding the great head into his mouth and beginning to suck.

Aragorn tasted good yet strange, he didn't know what the taste was, dark and musky, dangerous and addictive. The cock twitched, and Aragorn urged him to swallow more. Closing his eyes, Faramir opened his throat and allowed his head to be pushed down and worked. He could not breath. Aragorn was blocking his airway, was now holding him down and slamming up into him,

Faramir's head was wrenched and his mouth battered. He no longer knew where he was, who he was. He was Boromir, taking Faramir into his mouth as the first act of their incest. He was the young Edrill, begging to be taken then abused for long years into adulthood. He was Éowyn, subjected to a horror she could not begin to comprehend. He was Aragorn, suckling on Faramir's own prick. He was Faramir, son of Denethor, brother of Boromir, Prince of Ithilien, Steward of Gondor, lover of Aragorn, of Estel, of Elessar, swallower of the king's seed.

Aragorn lurched upwards again, and Faramir performed his duty to his king.


Gasping for breath, coughing, Faramir found his head resting on his lover's stomach. Aragorn was spent, sprawled and heaving, his legs still parted. Faramir was hard, had not yet come. Kneeling, he licked gently at Aragorn's softening erection. Enticed by the continuing moans he let his tongue explore lower, over and around the sac which Aragorn had so wanted him to bite upon and down, down between solid muscle. He pushed Aragorn's legs up towards his chest, urging the king to lift his hips so that he could lick deep into the cleft, seeking, searching. At last the tip of his tongue felt the puckered flesh and Aragorn jolted.

For a moment Faramir could do nothing, the reality was all too much, then slowly he moistened his tongue and flattened it onto Aragorn's tight entrance, pressing against rather than inwards, resolving his touch into a deep kiss, his hands gently parting the king's buttocks so he could press his entire face into that warm and secret place. Then his tongue breached the king's defences, penetrating slowly, relishing the contracting walls of the velvet passage. Faramir thrilled to the long shudders which were now wracking Aragorn's body, every touch of his tongue producing another spasm of pleasure as he searched for the king's sweet spot. He wanted to keep doing this forever, but his own needs could no longer be neglected.

He introduced a finger beside his tongue, let his saliva pour into the widening hole then replaced tongue with another finger. Now Aragorn was beginning to buck, bearing down hard and pleading for Faramir to take him deeper. Raising his head, Faramir saw with mild surprise that Aragorn was hard again already, so pushed himself up to lick again at the shaft. If the king was able to recover this quickly, he could foresee many long and intense sessions where that ability was tested to the limits. The prospect made his own cock leap and now he too moaned his pleasure.

He curled and crooked his fingers, withdrew and introduced a saliva-slicked third. Aragorn wanted it, pushed as hard as he could against the intrusion, his own cock slamming into his stomach, demanding release. With two fingers Faramir pulled Aragorn open and once more offered him his tongue, but this time without tenderness, ramming into the soft folds within, licking at the inner walls, tasting, smelling, breathing nothing but Aragorn.

Withdrawing and releasing, he rose up onto his knees to regard his king. Aragorn was sweating profusely, his long hair plastered across face and neck, hands ground into the earth. Wild were the eyes that met Faramir's own.

'Take me, Fara, by the gods, take me now!'.

Faramir wondered how long it had been since Aragorn had been taken, who had been his last male lover. Prince Legolas, perhaps? But that was the only relatively recent partner Faramir was aware of. Who else had known the king? What men had been in this place before him? Had in fact Aragorn had any lovers, apart from Arwen, since he been crowned? Was he indeed the first man to take Elessar the king?

Something glinted at the corner of his vision, something like fire, like ice, something golden and silver. Reaching for the flask Faramir thought he heard a beloved voice in his head, one he knew better than any other, telling him something he had already guessed, a familiar laugh and the touch of fingers on his skin, but then it was gone.

He warmed the flask between his hands, kissed the precious container before dripping the thick liquid into his trembling hands and onto his prick. Prepared, he lifted Aragorn by the hips and pulled him onto his own thighs, then gazed down in wonder as the tip of his glistening cock approached the moist opening.

Aragorn was watching him, adoration in his eyes.

And Faramir pushed forward, Aragorn moaning as his muscles fought, contracted, resisted, resisted again, then accepted. Push again, deeper now, almost half way inside. Now Aragorn's eyes were closed but Faramir could not stop watching him, even a tiny thrust caused the body to jerk as if it had been struck by a lightning bolt. His force and pace increased and Aragorn writhed, his moans rising to cries.

How long before Faramir could make him scream? Slower now, but harder. One brutal thrust, then wait. Wait and watch. Listen. Then thrust again. Almost all inside now. He rubbed a little more oil onto the remaining exposed inches then threw his entire weight and strength into sheathing himself deep within the king. The body beneath him was limp as a rag-doll yet its cock was still proud and as he began to pound he grasped it with his freshly oiled hand and pumped to the rhythm of his thrusts. Aragorn's eyes opened wide at the attack.

'Don't stop...' little more than a whisper '...don't stop...'

Mesmerised by the pleasure he was giving his king, Faramir felt his climax approach, pumped Aragorn's cock hard to bring him to release also, slammed into his beloved, yelping and moaning as he came. On his final thrust Aragorn joined him in ecstasy, his tight muscles constricting hard around the pulsing cock that filled him, the great scream at last released. Faramir's hand was blessed with a steaming cream that the steward then lifted to his lips and drank with reverence. He raised his eyes. Aragorn was still watching him. Slowly he repeated the action, licking at his dripping palm, then moved to offer it to Aragorn's lips also before they tumbled into an embrace of sated desire.




'Aragorn, who was the last man to take you?'

He did not truly need to ask, the voice had told him something he had already guessed.

'Man? Or lover?'

'Man.'

Aragorn was silent, was looking away, embarrassed, then he turned back and there was sorrow in his eyes.

Faramir gathered him into his arms and held him tightly to let him know that he understood and that he loved him.

'Tell me about it one day, when you are ready. Tell me how you loved him also.'




The afternoon was still warm but it would not be long before dusk began to creep up on them and the spring evening turned chill. Faramir was concerned that they should not attempt the return river crossing after dark, yet he wanted to remain in this place forever. Everything he had suffered over had been washed away from him here. Aragorn had known of his love for Boromir, had even been taken by Boromir, had understood about the madness that had taken him to the Chained Tree. None of it mattered, only being with Aragorn mattered.

So much had passed between them this day and now the day was drawing to a close. But still there was something more he wanted, needed desperately, could not now live without. Faramir lay with Aragorn leaning above him, faces close, the king's dark straggling hair teasing his skin, strong fingers lightly tracing the curve of his jaw. Aragorn was watching him. Was he reading his mind also?

'Faramir?'

'Mmm?'

'Prince Faramir, as your general and your king I find need to command you.'

'It had better not be that you want me to start calling you "Ara"!'

A shadow passed across Aragorn's face, the change was hardly perceptible, but it was dangerous, intoxicating.

'Do, and I'll slit your throat.'

Aragorn's fingernails scraped slowly across Faramir's neck. The king's eyes were paler than ever, narrowed and threatening.

'I'd rather you fucked me to death.'

'That also can be arranged.'

The fingertips trailed across to his shoulder then down his chest, tweaking a nipple to make Faramir shudder and yelp, but still he could not break from the gaze that held him. It had been a day of learning, learning of each other's nakedness, of touch and feel, of skin, bone and muscle, of reaction and need, and of the secret intimacies of body and mind they had chosen to share. Faramir had always totally abandoned himself to sex, his pleasure was absolute and he revelled in it. His needs now were raw and he wanted them met.

Still Aragorn's eyes did not leave him, then in one sudden movement he was flipped over onto his stomach. Momentarily winded, he was unable and unwilling to resist as he felt Aragorn straddle him, pinning him down. Power-games, sexual power games just as he shared with his brother. Faramir's trapped cock throbbed at the prospect.

'Prince Faramir, when you took me you bruised me deeply. The pain will be with me for days. Every time I move, I shall feel you again inside me. When you sit across the council table from me and see me shift, see me react, you shall know the cause.'

Faramir was unable to respond, could only wait for whatever it was that Aragorn would do to him. The waiting was the worst part. Then Aragorn's voice, laced with menace, hissed at his ear.

'I will have you suffer the same pain, my Lord Steward.'

Aragorn's body slid back until he was kneeling then forced Faramir up onto all-fours, spreading his legs wide, pushing his body low, one hand reaching down to cup and knead the hanging balls. The hand disappeared and Faramir was momentarily confused until he felt oiled fingers press against and into him, working deeper to eleicit a gasping plea before the fingers were replaced with something huge and solid, something demanding and utterly irresistable.

Despite so many years of being taken and taken hard, Faramir was still tight - another gift, perhaps, from his elven lover - and the sheer force and size of Aragorn's prick as it ploughed through his defences and ravaged his most tender parts brought an almost unbearable agony. For a moment he stopped breathing, all colour fled from his vision and his upper body collapsed onto the ground. This was everything he had inflicted upon his own past lovers and he was stunned by it. Still Aragorn did not cease from his rhythmic attack, holding Faramir's hips and launching his entire weight into each thrust. Suddenly the steward’s head was yanked savagely upwards by the hair.

'Look!' Aragorn hissed.

What was he supposed to look at? Aragorn was behind him and could only be seen if Faramir twisted around, but that was not allowed by the grip on his hair.

'The horses! Look!'

Finally he managed to focus on the distant animals and saw with shock that Roheryn was mounting Fanuilos. Surely the mare could not be in season? Could the stallion possibly be infected by the lust that hung heavy in the air around the two men?

'Watch, Faramir. Keep watching.'

His head still pulled cruelly backwards, Faramir could do little else. And as Roheryn bit at Fanuilos's withers he felt Aragorn's teeth break his skin. As he saw Roheryn's huge prick plunge and plunge again into the depths of the mare, he felt Aragorn match the action thrust for thrust. He arched to take everything that his king had to offer him in this moment of sacred consummation, screamed his lover's name as Aragorn pounded repeatedly against his sweet spot, screamed again as a spare hand grasped and stroked at his jerking erection, tipping him over the edge so that his climax shot out over his stomach and dripped onto the grass, screamed once more as he felt Aragorn possess him totally, filling his bowels with the hot wetness that was the king's own seed.




It was late eveing when they had reached the Great Gate of Minas Tirith. They had given their mounts over into the care of two junior members of the City Guard, lads who were thrilled to be given such a responsibility as to return the horses of the king and steward safely to the stables. Then the two men had begun the long slow climb to the Citadel on foot.

'I like walking up through the city' Aragorn had insisted. 'When I came here, every time I rode home it was always like the first formal entrance I ever made, everyone watching and cheering. That's why I began to walk instead of ride. I much prefer it, just to wander where I like, to see what is happening, see what people are doing. And this time of day, when the lanterns are being lit and the shadows thicken, this time brings out the ranger in me and I love to creep home unseen and unrecognised. Although at this moment, I do rather want to show you off!'

The king pushed Faramir against the wall and kissed him deeply, but withdrew when he felt the steward grow tense in his arms.

'What's wrong, my love?'

Faramir shivered and smiled sadly.

'Nothing, nothing really, just memories. All those years with Boromir, having to conceal our feelings. We were never able to walk openly as lovers, never able to exchange more than a brotherly kiss in the street.'

'Do not grieve for the past. Now you are free to show your love to the world.'

Aragorn wrapped a comforting arm around Faramir's waist as they resumed their ascent.

'There will be no need to hide any more. This is not the first time that a king and steward have been lovers, you know that as well as I. The people love us both already and will come to accept it, the Council also. I think that we will work better together because of our bond.'

The king laughed as he remembered their last official encounter.

'I will try not to shout at you again, love. But if I do, I promise that I will more than make up for it later, when we are alone. You can always shout at me too, you know, if you will make the same promise...'

Faramir could not help but laugh also and they fell into each others arms again.

As they held each other, Faramir saw over Aragorn's shoulder one figure from a passing couple halt and regard them for a moment, a blond-haired figure he knew so very well. Their eyes met and the two men exchanged a secret smile as Edrill learned for the first time who his former master's new lover was.

*I wish you joy, my lord*

Edrill only mouthed the words but Faramir could read them well.

*And I you*

Then Edrill disappeared into the gathering darkness, running fast downhill to catch up with Astermal as Aragorn drew Faramir up the winding road into a new journey, one they would make together and which would begin that night in the depths of the king's own bed.

'Come on!'

 

END

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

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2 Comment(s)

This is a most powerful tale, packed to the brim with raw emotion – an absolute must-read!! Beautifully written: compelling, eloquent, witty, gorgeously hot… And the plot has it all: it’s extremely intense, awfully sad, impishly funny, disturbingly deep and deeply disturbing – I had to take breaks every now and again, it was just too much, and admittedly, there was a moment I was sure I could not read on at all – but thank heavens I did in the end. Not an easy read at all – a real journey indeed, took me 4 days to make it, but totally worth it!

Now here come SPOILERS, so those who haven’t read the story, go no further.

The way Boromir’s suffering over it all in P1 just wrenched my heart, literally. Poor thing, and what a noble act to actually find it in himself to leave on that morning… That detail alone shows all the tragedy of their love, and how much he cared.

I LOVE the whole scene of Boromir at the council meeting on his B-Day. Go Boromir! ‘Paint in blood and gore’… What a lol. That was so exactly like him.

Now, admittedly, it had taken me some time and effort to get used to the boys liking it a little rough like they did, especially Faramir doing the kicking and the smashing. But somehow the way you describe it made it believable, made it look almost like it could not have been otherwise, what with their descent, and the circumstances of their life, and everything they went through, and simply the way they loved each other so hard.

Uncle Bean-Stick is absolutely adorable, what with calling everyone ‘pup’ and saying ‘always a problem, that one’, but of course a very complex and intriguing character as well – too much Elf in him, obviously.

The bejeweled elf-Lord… now that one was entirely other-worldly, and having jewels in his jewels, my, that’s something else…

That it did not work out with Faramir and Eowyn, I can totally buy into that. Never saw how it could have possibly worked, actually…

Then the concept of the ‘song’, the note on the harp – that’s so realistic, the way Faramir felt it, can totally relate to that.

Love it how it’s chronologically indirect, how it keeps going back and forth in time, opening up new insights with every loop, sort of growing on itself.

Faramir’s island is so heavenly, and the way he shouts ‘come on!’ to Aragorn before taking a plunge just like he had to Boromir years ago made my head spin for some reason…

The whole idea with the horses in P4 is… savagely intense, and it fits so well into both relationships it is a metaphor for. Only it makes me think: does that mean Faramir was more gifted than Boromir? An interesting concept…

Your version of Boromir’s fate is just brilliant! Boromir in Valinor! Honestly, made me so happy for him, I just hate it how he died like that in the middle of things; but then again to make it AU and let him survive somehow sort of robs him of the appeal of a tragic character, but to have him die and then live on is absolutely brilliant! Wonder if he’ll go buggering any of the immortal people since he’s already there, heh.

Thank you SO very much for writing this tale! I’ve been thinking about it all the past days, and likely shall be for some days to come, too. Definitely coming back for a reread some day.

December    Monday 12 April 2010, 20:50    #

This is one of the best that I have read so far! I love the style of writing and it’s just simply brilliant, I couldn’t write anything even half as good myself.
As for the elf… Celeborn is an elf lord, I’d say that since Haldir’s status isn’t high enough, or am I mistaken?

— Sherena    Sunday 7 April 2013, 19:47    #

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