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Four Journeys (NC-17) Print

Written by Fawsley

01 September 2005 | 34096 words

Title: Four journeys
Author: Fawsley
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Boromir/Faramir; Faramir/unknown elf; Faramir/Aragorn
Summary: Three men, four journeys of the heart. Difficult roads to self-knowledge and not all of the travellers is able to stay the course without some serious doubt and major angst.
Warning: possible non-con/rape; implied child abuse/incest; graphic violent sex.
Feedback: Delighted to hear from you at fairestkortirion@yahoo.co.uk Especially interested to hear ideas on the identity of the unknown elf. He turned up and insisted on being included but failed to tell me who he was.
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters and I think they wrote much of this themselves.

Eternal thanks: to LadyoftheMarshes for amazing beta work and for red wine down at the Chained Tree and to HalfElfLost for soul-enhancement at all times and for stopping me from hitting the delete button.


Part 1: Boromir's journey

Third Age, Summer 3000

The messenger had met with the returning Host of Gondor in the early morning as he rode headlong towards Dol Amroth. Ever glad for news after so many months away from Minas Tirith, Boromir had greeted the man eagerly, plying him with ale and food and much needed rest before allowing him to continue on his journey westward to the sea.

'I carry council reports for your father the Lord Steward' the rider had explained. 'He is with Prince Imrahil to discuss the protection of shipping routes from attack by corsairs, a growing menace. He will be gratified indeed by the news of your defeat of the Southron force, Lord Boromir.' He paused to drink deeply before continuing, wiping froth from his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Should I carry the news to Minas Tirith on my return, or does my lord intend to march there sooner? Captain Faramir is there now and will be keen to hear....'

Boromir interrupted the messenger.

'*Captain* Faramir? Since when has my brother been a captain? Captain of what?'

The messenger drank deeply again before continuing with one of the most exciting stories to have come to the White City in many months, proud to be the one to first relate it to the army's general and the hero's brother.

'Captain of the Ithilien Rangers, my Lord Boromir. Since last autumn. The Rangers were then of course under Lord Madrim's command, scouting up on the borders of Mordor and Lord Faramir was serving amongst them. A surprise attack by orcs, Madrim was sorely injured, his deputies slaughtered, the patrol broke up in disorder, the orcs ran havoc, all seemed lost. But Lord Faramir assumed command. Though then of junior rank he drew the men back to him, rallied their strength and courage, they were outnumbered two to one but they surrounded the orcs and destroyed them all.

'Madrim was saved but his injuries later proved too severe for him to resume command. He has retired from the Rangers and is now master of the archery school. As ever the Rangers themselves elected a new leader to replace Madrim. They chose Lord Faramir, there was not one voice of opposition. He is their captain now, much loved by the men, they speak of him as amongst their greatest leaders. And Madrim swears only an elf could be more proficient with the bow.'

Pleased with himself, the messenger returned to the comforts of his ale mug.

Boromir was stunned. He had not seen his younger brother for nearly a year and a half. Skirmishes with the Southron menace had kept him busy, and during the one brief visit he had made to Minas Tirith Faramir had been absent. When Boromir had last seen him, his brother had been on the cusp between two stages of his life, full of potential, growing into his body, yet still a breathlessly beautiful boy. Now he must be, what? Seventeen. Certainly a man.

Would he have followed Boromir and gained the muscled physique of warrior, or their uncle Imrahil into an over-tall, gangling figure? And, wondered the deepest most secret part of Boromir's mind, would his brother still awaken in him that desperate need, that thirst that could not be quenched, that terrifying urge which rode roughshod laughing over what should be a chaste brotherly love? The mores of Gondor allowed much that other lands viewed with distaste, yet sexual love between siblings was ever a horror that could only result in banishment or death. Would it still be best if they did in fact rarely meet?

Boromir found unintended words falling from his lips.

'I shall take the news to Minas Tirith myself, will ride ahead of the men. It will be good to see my little brother again. We have long been parted'

The messenger laughed as he drained his mug and prepared to continue his journey.

'Not so little any more, my Lord Boromir!'


Within an hour Boromir had passed command of the army to his deputies, instructing the men to march towards the White City so as to arrive within two days, that he would ride on ahead to take the news of their victory himself. They could, he assured them, expect a glorious reception, he would see to that himself. Many he embraced in farewell, though he avoided the young cavalry hand, the youth whose long red-brown curls and slim build made him, from the back, appear so like another, whose body had tempted Boromir to take him as he so longed to take another.

But when the boy had turned to face him in their coupling it was not the face Boromir longed to kiss, not the eyes he yearned to drown in. That was when Boromir felt a surge of dark anger rise within him, made him crush the boy for arousing those feelings, hurt him and punish him for not being his brother.

Soon he was gone, riding fast and light towards his city. The young cavalry hand watched the departing figure with a mixture of loss and relief in his eyes.




As he rode, Boromir's mind tumbled helplessly, arguing with himself that he travelled simply to bring the news of the victory to his people. Of course it would be good to see Faramir again, to congratulate him on his own glories, to talk together now as fellow-soldiers of Gondor. Again and again he pushed down the desire that had tormented him for so long, the lust for his own sweet brother. Faramir was a man now, 'not so little any more' the messenger had said, so no doubt something in the lanky mould of old Imrahil, the 'Uncle Bean-stick' of their childhood. No, Boromir insisted to himself, when they met he would find that passion spent, a passing phase. Faramir need never know what torture had wracked his brother.

But a malicious part of his mind drew forth images of the boy which ever aroused that most dangerous of desires. Faramir standing fearlessly on the Citadel walls nearly a thousand feet above the Pelennor, gazing out defiantly towards the darkness of Mordor.
Faramir shirtless upon an ancient and placid retired charger as it grazed hock-deep in buttercups, lying along the horse's back to gaze at the high clouds one hot afternoon, his skin bronzed, glistening with sweat, hair streaked blonde from the sun. Faramir that day at the stable yard, watching, awakening...

Boromir had long only had eyes for his brother, eyes that must be wary, eyes that could not let others see the need in them. As the ache in him had grown, Boromir had had to fight harder and harder to control himself, to stop himself from letting the madness take over, to stop himself from defiling the innocent flesh of his beloved little brother.

Faramir had ever been dearer and closer to him than any other, always they had shared thoughts, secrets, dreams, but this was something he could never share, something he could never allow Faramir to know. Too many nights he wept, calling Faramir's name again and again, his hand working to bring him release but not relief. And too many nights he saw again, felt again, the last time they had been together.

Faramir had still been almost a child, and in his childlikeness had once again shared his bed with Boromir. It had been a ritual that on the night before one of them went away, on the night after one of them returned, they slept together for comfort. Boromir had tried to avoid it this time, argued that they were adults now and had no need of it, terrified of what it might do to him, of losing control, but somehow he had stayed too long with his brother and Faramir had seemed especially to need company that winter night.

Long they had talked of what lay before Boromir, had discussed the Southron enemy. Even then Faramir had shown signs, Boromir now realised, of a gifted soldier, but then he had still only seen his little brother. They had lazed on cushions before the fire in Faramir's chamber, sipping spiced wine to keep out the cold, until the prospect of traversing icy stone corridors to his own chamber had daunted even Boromir and he had once again lain naked next to the angel of his heart.

He had hardly slept. The Southron menace was nothing to what he had to vanquish that night. Faramir had slipped quickly and easily into dreams lying safe in his brother's arms, sleep revealing in him an even greater beauty, something almost elf-like, a beauty which threatened to burn away Boromir's very soul. A night of torment, but Boromir had at last slept, only to awaken before dawn to find his brother turned away from him, his own face burrowed in Faramir's soft curls, and his hardness pressing urgently into the cleft between the boy's smooth buttocks.

The moment had been his greatest test. It would have been so easy, and so sweet, to thrust forward, to pin Faramir down and take by force what he so desperately needed, but he had somehow found the strength to hold back. Lying still he had held Faramir close, weeping silently for what could never be.

'Fara...' he had whispered, his lips brushing and nuzzling his brother's warm neck, 'Fara, I love you beyond all reason, my body burns for you. I ache to be inside you.'

Faramir had moaned softly in his sleep and pressed gently backwards against his brother's anguish. Almost undone, Boromir had rolled away and out from under the hot blankets into the morning chill, shaking with cold, with lust, with terror. Quickly and quietly he had slipped into his clothes, left the chamber and soon was nothing more than a wisp of dust on the horizon as he rode south towards a different kind of battle.




As his tired horse jogged slowly across the Pelennor, scouts from the causeway forts galloped ahead to alert Minas Tirith to Boromir's return. By the time he reached the main gates the city would be in glorious uproar, crowds filling the streets, garlands and ribbons strewn at his feet, silver trumpets calling him home. Boromir's pride craved such pomp. As he drew nearer he could see in the distance the dust cloud from another speeding horseman, this one riding away from the city towards him and his heart leapt at the thought of it being Faramir.

The lowering sun was in Boromir's eyes making him squint at the approaching figure, but as the rider grew closer he could see this was a compact warrior, not some lanky Imrahil, and Boromir's hopes faded, so certain was he now that Faramir's blood must have inherited a strong Dol Amroth quality. The oncoming horse skidded to a halt alongside him, a strong arm gripped his waist and a fierce kiss was planted full on his lips. 'Boromir, my brother! Oh Brom welcome home! I can't believe you're here! Is it truly you?' Faramir was breathless from his gallop and from his emotion.

Faramir was beautiful beyond Boromir's wildest imaginings. All traces of the child had left him. Boromir was almost in shock, hardly able to speak, knowing that all possibility of his lust being dampened was lost. He wanted Faramir more than ever, and now he wanted the man not the boy.

'I could as easily ask whether it is truly you, Fara' his voice husky, nervous.

Faramir threw back his head and laughed. 'I grew up while you were away!' He cantered around Boromir in his excitement, shirt billowing in the breeze, blowing open to reveal a strongly muscled torso. Boromir ached to touch him.

'Come Brom! Hurry! The city is delirious with your homecoming! Father is not here and you know how everyone enjoys themselves so much more when he is away. They are already half-wild with joy! Ride home in triumph and glory! Come on!'

Faramir spurred his horse away then wheeled around to once again encourage Boromir to join him. 'Come *on*!' he shouted over his shoulder as he galloped away.

Boromir groaned as he urged his mount onwards for one last effort. He knew he would not long be able to resist the temptation that Faramir now presented, knew that he had to have him. At least he would be taking a man now, his conscience comforted him, and Faramir would no doubt fight back, perhaps even prevent him from actually succumbing to his forbidden lust.

For a moment the temptation to turn around and ride as hard and as fast as he could to anywhere that Faramir wasn't flashed through his mind, but the city was waiting for him and his fate drew him ever onwards. Faramir met him again inside the main gate and together they rode through the tumultuous throng upwards around the spiral of Minas Tirith. Their names rang in their ears, men women and children surged forwards to see them, to greet them. Babies and small children were held aloft to marvel at the magnificently handsome warrior brothers as they passed, flowers thrust at them by love-struck girls, only to be kissed and handed to others eager to take them further up the road.

At last, after leaving their mounts at the stables, they escaped the clamour for the peace and privacy of the Citadel. Faramir turned and embraced his brother tightly, one hand on Boromir's waist under his riding cloak, another snaking around his neck, held him close as he spoke soft and low.

'Sweet Valar, Boromir, I have missed you so! More than you know. There is so much I need to speak of with you.'

Boromir's whole body vibrated. This man had a power over him that could destroy reason. Was Faramir aware of Boromir's hardness as he pressed against him?

'Your rooms should be made ready by now, and supper will not be long. Tomorrow we shall truly celebrate! I had of course already planned to drink to your name at supper then, but now...'

'Tomorrow? Celebrate? Drink to me? Why?'

Faramir's throaty laugh close to his cheek elicited a muted groan from Boromir, still gripped by the lust that had overwhelmed him when Faramir rode out of the sunset.

'Have you truly forgotten? Have the Southron robbed you of your grasp of the calendar? Tomorrow is your birthday!'

Boromir groaned now in anguish. Tomorrow he would indeed be twenty-two. Only twenty-two, yet he felt like an old man wrecked by a lifetime of hunger. Unable to resist, his arms wrapped themselves around his younger brother and returned the embrace, breathing deeply, desperate to hold on to his sanity.

'Fara...'

His brother stroked his head and kissed his brow tenderly. 'Go, rest now, worry not. This evening shall be spent quietly if we can get away from those damned councillor fools. We shall talk together later, alone.' He made to leave but then turned back and locked eyes with his tormented brother. 'Boromir, I have the sweetest birthday gift for you. You could not wish for more.'

Faramir smiled, and was gone.

And as Boromir made his way to the sanctuary of his rooms the knowledge of what the night would bring made him stagger and clutch at the wall. For tonight was a night of return, when he and Faramir had ever shared a bed, as they had also ever done on the nights before their birthdays. Faramir wanted to be alone with his brother, to talk, to renew their bond, to offer his birthday gift. Boromir wanted to be alone with him for quite different reasons. He could see no escape, his doom lay before him.




They supped together quietly in Boromir's private dining room, though the noise of the continuing revelry in the city rose up to them from the lower levels. Boromir toyed with his food, too miserable to eat and drinking far too much, trying not to look at Faramir but desperate to feast his eyes on the ravishing figure seated across the table from him. His brother laughed to himself at the noise of the celebrations.

'A fine homecoming, Brom! You have been away far too long, though of course I was not here last time. When was it? Almost a year now. I was at Dol Amroth, trying to learn navigation. It took ages! I was hopeless, thought there had been a mistake and I had no Númenorian blood in me at all, but then suddenly it all made sense. Not that I get much chance to use the skill in Ithilien.'

The noise from the populace paused for a beat then an explosion of fireworks rent the air and the partying resumed.

'Ha! I wonder how many of those babes held up to see you today were little Boromirs you begot on that last visit!'

Horrified by the thought, Boromir at last met his brother's eyes. Faramir smiled and raised a quizzical eyebrow, one that Boromir would have given all to run his tongue over, tasting the creamy skin.

'*None*, I assure you. *None*.'

Boromir's words were vicious stabs as a wave of anger at Faramir for even daring to think of his brother with a woman washed over him, a rip-tide of venom dragging him down, making him want to hurt the thing he loved most.

'More likely they're all your little bastards. I expect your cock's been busy with those over-heated sluts now your balls have finally dropped and you think of yourself as something like a man. When did you get that idiot fluff on your chin? Have you seen yourself lately? Huh!'

Boromir spat then drained his goblet and reached for yet more wine.

Faramir was silent, shocked and wounded. The brothers never quarrelled. Boromir's words were the most vicious that had ever passed between them. Minutes passed and neither spoke, the watching servants shifted uneasily in the silence. As if noticing them for the first time, Boromir's anger now turned upon the staff.

'Out! Get out! Out! Now!'

He sounded just like their father. Unhappy and distressed by the turn of events, Faramir watched the nervous servants leave then rose and bowed to his brother.

'My apologies, Boromir. You are tired and I was thoughtless. Let me leave you for now.'

He began to walk unsteadily away from the table, then turned and half ran back to Boromir's chair, stumbling to kneel beside him, grasping his brother's arm urgently.

'Brom, we've been apart for so long, I don't want to fight. Not with you of all people.'

Boromir looked down with tears in his eyes, grieved at the barb he had thrown at his brother, shamed by the patient forgiveness Faramir offered him, wretched in his suffering.

'Oh Fara, you cannot understand how I love you!'

Faramir reached to stroke the tumbling blonde hair from Boromir's face, trace the line of his neat beard, then arched upwards to kiss his lips.

'I'll come to you later.' he whispered.

Boromir clutched at his brother, held him for what seemed an eternity, gasped hoarsely as his drowning will power struggled to the surface

'No, Fara! No, you must not. I beg of you, don't come to my chamber tonight, not any night. Faramir you must never again...'

But Faramir just smiled and kissed his brother's tears away.

'Oh but Brom, I have the sweetest gift for you!' and finally left Boromir to his grief.




He should of course have locked the door, but sense had deserted him in his torment. Boromir stood before the fireplace of his chamber, leaning against the surrounding stonework for support, head on his arms, heart racing, almost out of his mind. Having been unable to eat he now took solace in a fast-emptying bottle of some strong sour spirit he had claimed as booty from the defeated Southron.

'Boromir.'

He did not turn.

'Faramir, go! Leave me! You have no idea... Leave me or I cannot answer for what I do.'

'I've brought your birthday gift. You will adore it, I assure you.'

'Just go! Leave now! I *order* you!'

Faramir's bare feet were silent across the stone floor, but Boromir heard the sound of the door close and the key turn.

'Gods, Fara!' he groaned to himself, to his departing brother 'This lust for you consumes my very soul!'

A gentle rustling, the creek of supple leather, and the realisation hit that he was not alone. The key had turned, but of course could only be turned from within. Faramir was still there, in the chamber, had locked them in. Had he heard Boromir's words? Shaking, panicking, knowing that the moment he desired more than any other, dreaded more than any other, had finally come, Boromir turned to face his little brother.

Faramir was standing close to him, had shed his shirt and stood now in only tight leather breeches that barely skimmed his slim hips. Boromir gasped with longing. His brother was perfect, matching him in height, auburn hair glinting in the candle-light, broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, soft dark nipples he ached to lick and pinch into hardness, a scattering of golden hairs upon his chest thickening to a darker band leading down, down... Boromir swayed and clung to the fireplace, terrified of what he was about to do.

'Fara...'

'I promised I would bring you your birthday gift, Brom. Here, take this.'

Faramir offered something like fire, like ice, something golden and silver. Even his lust could not overpower the shimmering magnetism of the flask Faramir held and Boromir reached out to take it.

'What is it?' he murmured, mesmerised. 'It seems elvish.' he held the flask to the light, turning to swirl the thick golden liquid within.

'Yes, it is. Mithril and crystal.'

'How in the world did you come by it?'

Faramir smiled enigmatically.

'A ranger makes interesting contacts in the course of his work.'

Boromir gazed at the beautiful flask, at his beautiful brother, struggling.

'Thank you Fara. It is truly a princely gift.'

Now Faramir laughed, head thrown back. Again Boromir jerked forward, desperate in his need to taste that tender throat, his resistance all but gone.

'But that is not your birthday gift!'

'Then what...? What is my gift? What is the flask then?'

'The flask contains a little something to help the gift along.'

'What do you mean Fara? Stop talking in riddles! What's in the flask?'

'Only oil. Ordinary oil from the kitchens.' The look on his face was maddening.

'What do you mean?' Boromir hissed, his mind refusing to comprehend.

'The flask is not your birthday gift, Brom. Nor is the oil.'

Faramir paused a moment, taking the flask and placing it on the small table beside the bed, stepping forward and locking eyes with his beloved elder brother.

'I am.'


Boromir collapsed into Faramir's arms, weeping, clutching, covering him with fierce kisses, fighting to meet the mouth he so desired as Faramir returned his passion in equal measure.

'Fara, Fara...' almost incoherent.

So long he had believed that when this moment came it would be one of appalling violence where he would have to force Faramir against his will, but he had been wrong. Faramir had chosen to give himself to his brother, and Boromir had all the time he needed to fulfil his desires with this exquisitely compliant virgin.

'Fara you are beautiful. So long I have loved you, so long, needed you, wanted to...'

'Sshhh, Brom. And I have known for a long time. Understood what ate at you when it began also to eat at me. Waited until I was no longer a child. Always wanting you. I have ached with yearning for you to take me, but you were far away. Now you are here.'

'You know this is wrong? That we risk everything?'

'I know that it is right and that I would risk all for you.'

Their mouths found each other once again and at last Boromir's lips and tongue traced the curve of his brother's face, the long neck, his fingers at last pinched at a hardened nipple, worked downwards, slowly downwards, to unlace the thongs of those tight breeches.

His hand pushed inside and found Faramir's incredible hardness, felt his brother shudder and arch against him, felt him clutch and tear at his own clothing. Boromir eased the breeches down over Faramir's hips, ran his hand over the taught muscle of a buttock, his mouth eating hungrily at his brother, devouring him, biting that sweet throat. Faramir wriggled sinuously, grinding into Boromir's erection, and the breeches fell to the floor. Still locked against his brother he stepped out of them and was naked in Boromir's arms.

'Brom' he whispered against his brother’s ear, his voice hungry as Boromir had never heard it before 'I can wait no longer.'

Boromir gathered Faramir up into his arms and stumbled to the great bed, throwing him down then stepping back to strip. As he ripped the clothes from himself he watched Faramir lying with one leg off the bed, one knee raised, displaying all, languidly stroking his engorged cock, gazing up at his brother, eyes filled with adoration and desperate need. Boromir's own eyes widened and he drew breath sharply as he gazed in wonder at his brother's nakedness.

'Brom, take me in your mouth, please...'

Boromir's mouth watered at what was offered to him, and with the last of his clothing he too fell to the floor, kneeling to taste the heady musk of Faramir's arousal. Grasping the thick shaft he kissed the weeping head, nuzzling it with his lips, his tongue teasing the slit and snaking over the throbbing vein, finally enfolding the long, quivering hardness. Faramir responded to every lick, every suck, writhing and moaning in abandon, urging Boromir to swallow him deeper, to fill his mouth, to take him far into his throat.

Boromir kneaded urgently at his brother's heavy balls, and as the saliva ran from his hard-working mouth he let it pour over his fingers, wetting them in readiness to explore Faramir ever further. Slowly he slipped a hand between his brother's open thighs, between the strong buttocks, traced their cleft until they found the tiny pucker that had so long been the subject of all his wildest fantasies. Boromir massaged the opening, glorying in its untried tightness, probing eagerly, the goal of all his lust.

Faramir's moans were wild now, his cock convulsing in Boromir's throat, hands knotted in his brother's hair. As Boromir's finger finally breached the tightness Faramir exploded, screaming his brother's name and filling Boromir's mouth with pulse after pulse of hot salty juice. Boromir drank what seemed to him the sweetest nectar, the elixir of life, the seed of his brother. Still his greedy mouth pulled at Faramir's cock for more until his head was pushed away with the last of the boy's strength.

Aroused as never before, Boromir knelt before his exhausted brother then pulled himself up onto the bed to kneel over the defenceless body.

'Fara, you are shameless, utter temptation and I cannot resist. You taste so sweet, my little brother!'

Faramir could not speak, lay gasping for breath, chest flushed and heaving. Boromir pulled him fully onto the bed, swinging him around to lie straight, the arched to kiss him tenderly on the eyes, deeply on the mouth.

'Fara! Tell me you want me. Tell me you want me to do this. Tell me that you need this. You know it is not in my nature but I will do my best to be gentle.'

Faramir opened his eyes and looked up at the man towering above him. A wildness in them made Boromir's cock jump.

'Brom, my brother' Faramir could only whisper. 'I do not wish you to be gentle. Take me as you have ever dreamed of doing. Take me and hold nothing back. Hurt me...'

Boromir groaned in glorious anticipation of the act to come, the consummation of all his desires. The violence he had so dreaded, that was so hard to restrain, was what Faramir was aching for. The elven flask glittered on the side-table. Kneeling astride Faramir's torso, Boromir reached for the crystal jewel, warmed it between his hands, kissed the precious container. Looking down again at his wanton brother, Boromir took his cock and pushed it towards Faramir's parted lips, teasing them. An agile tongue snaked out and licked at the offering.

'Taste it, Fara, taste the source of your pain.'

Faramir moaned softly and lapped more urgently, but Boromir could not last long if he gave in to such treatment.

'Later, my greedy little brother. Later I shall bruise your mouth. Later...'

Edging backwards, Boromir pushed Faramir's legs apart. The oil was soft and warm as Boromir spread it across his fingers. Again he touched Faramir's secret opening, pressing and massaging, gazing at his handiwork. Easily he inserted one finger, met sweet resistance at the entrance of a second. Faramir's breathing was becoming ragged again. Boromir scissored his fingers hard against the tightness, stretching Faramir open, urging the muscles towards defeat. A third cruel finger and Faramir began to buck.

'This is nothing, Fara, nothing to what I'm going to give you.'

The fingers pushed and crooked, exploring, demanding. Faramir bore down on them, whimpering, wanting more. The fingers withdrew and Faramir mewled his distress at their loss.

Boromir exhaled deeply, controlled his breath, licked his fingers salaciously before carefully oiling both himself and his brother. Grasping Faramir by the hips, positioning himself, driven by the sweet agony on the face beneath him as finally he thrust his cock into his wrenched and aching brother. Faramir's screams were silent now, his body arching and contorting as it tried to accept what was being done to it.

'Little brother, I'm not yet half way inside you. This is nothing to the pain that is to come.'

Boromir continued to thrust against the resistance he met, giving no respite, finding pleasure in his brother's heat and pain, wondering just how much the beautiful body could take before he broke it. Then Faramir's reluctant muscles relaxed, and Boromir slid his full thick length inside his brother's incredible tightness, moaning now himself, head thrown back, deepening his penetration at every thrust.

Faramir was a sobbing pleading mass, both legs wrapped around his brother's waist as Boromir powered uncontrollably into him, yelling his name, pulling at Faramir's freshly engorged cock. Only one word, one word - 'Harder...harder...' - could Boromir comprehend, and at its cry he thrust and thrust again until it seemed that Faramir must tear, pouring himself into his own flesh and blood, crashing them both into a white light of pure ecstasy.


Entwined in each other's arms, it seemed an eternity before either could move, could extricate himself from the tangle of bedclothes, work out which limb belonged to which body. Boromir stirred first, searching for cool water to slake his thirst, gazing in still-astounded adoration at the crumpled figure beside him.

'You liked that, didn't you, you little whore?' he growled 'You liked being taken hard.'

Eyes as deep as the ocean opened, captured him, held him. A slow, crooked smile of satisfaction.

'No Morgul blade could cut me deeper, stab me harder. The pain when you entered me was awful but I wanted it to burn forever. Oh Brom it was everything I'd ever dreamed of, everything I'd ever feared, everything I could ever need.' Faramir shifted and winced 'But I think I'm bleeding.'

Every nerve in Boromir's body thrilled to the dark desires he had never imagined his innocent brother could possess. He rolled his lover onto his front and gently examined the damage he had inflicted. Faramir was torn and was indeed bleeding a little, though the oil had helped and the injury was not as bad as those he knew he had given others before. He kissed his brother's buttocks tenderly then gave one a stinging slap.
'You'll live.'

'I think I said, did I not, dearest brother...' Faramir's voice was muffled by the pillows 'that you would enjoy my birthday gift to you.'

Boromir gathered Faramir to him in a crushing embrace.

'Fara I love you past sense and reason, I adore you' he whispered 'I never thought you would ever come to me like this, let me use you like this. You are my one true love and I am ever yours. Whatever happens, I shall never leave you, little brother, *never*.'

Faramir escaped and rolled onto his side, facing away, then inched backwards into his brother's embrace.

'Hold me' he asked 'Hold me close as you did the night before you went away, the morning when you awoke and wanted me so very much, yet you did not take me.'

'You were awake?'

'Awake, and hard, and aching for you.'

'Fara! Why didn't you let me take you? Why?'

'You know why, Brom. I was still half a child. I knew deep down that I still must wait. I wanted to be a man when you took me. I don't think I could have stood the pain, the brute force before now, yet I have wanted it for so long.'

'You're not a man, you're a god, so beautiful. I shall never cease wanting you, taking you.'

'Nor I you. Not that I have yet taken you, of course.'

Boromir was silent for a moment.

'No man has ever taken me, Fara. I have only ever taken. I could not bear to yield to any but you. Never have I taken a man face-to-face before, so I did not have to see that it was not you I was inside.' Something like a sob escaped from Boromir's lips.

Faramir snuggled further back into him, reached behind to stroke whatever part of his brother he could find.

'And when I do take you, dark stars will explode in your mind and you shall no longer know yourself. I've been there. Love you Brom.'

'Don't ever stop, little brother.' Then Boromir laughed as warmth and joy and sleep took him again *...not so little any more...*




Morning.

The knocking at the bedchamber door came again, this time more insistent.

'Lord Boromir, sire, the Council is met. Lord Boromir they are growing impatient to hear news of your defeat of the Southron offensive. Sire? They ask for your presence. Lord Boromir?'

'Go *away*!' Boromir yelled in reply, lobbing a riding boot, the nearest heavy object he could lay hands on, hard against the door. He rolled back onto the bed and into his brother's arms. The bedclothes were in complete disarray, a nest of debauchery.

'I suppose, actually, that you ought to go. They didn't get much out of you last night. Unlike myself.' Faramir's voiced trailed off into a satisfied sigh.

Boromir lazily stroked Faramir's flat stomach, licking and teasing a taught dark nipple.

'Fara, you are magnificent. I can never get enough of you. What you did to me this morning... Where did you learn that? You were not truthful with me, that was not the first time you have been with a man! You gave me so much, took so much, mastered me. Never did I imagine that such pleasure could be possible, to submit myself totally in such a way...'

'Oh it was indeed the first time, of course it was. Remember last night? *All* last night! You are an excellent tutor' his brother laughed softly .'For so long I have had to wait, we have both had to wait. Waiting has made the fire burn ever more fiercely. I have dreamed so many nights of what we would do to each other, what I would do to you, when the time finally came.'

'Now I no longer know whether I wish to take or be taken.' sighed the elder brother.

Faramir rolled towards him, nuzzling Boromir's rough cheek with his soft lips, grasping and stroking his brother's growing shaft.

'Perhaps if we tried both again it might help you decide.'

'Lord Boromir!' Again knocking at the chamber door.

'Lord Boromir the Council demands your presence. They *must* receive the news from the south. And sire, we can't find Lord Faramir anywhere. His bed has not been slept in, his breakfast tray not touched. No-one is quite sure what to do...'

Exasperated at the intrusion, the brothers rolled apart onto their backs.

'Enough!' roared Boromir. 'I'm coming, tell them I'm coming. But I'm not staying!'


Desperate to be still somehow near his brother, Boromir pulled on Faramir's tight leather breeches and strode off to the council chamber. Having not eaten for nearly a whole day he grabbed the remains of the Southron spirit as his breakfast, supplementing it with the morning ale from the tray waiting outside his chamber door, and claimed also that left untouched at Faramir's door as he passed.

The breeches were too small and wear had moulded them to fit another's body. Boromir felt as if he were inside Faramir's own skin, the constriction at his groin and the force with which he had carelessly yanked at the lacing thongs in his hasty dressing meant that by the time he marched into the chamber he was not only terrifyingly angry but also very obviously, hugely erect. The breeches hid nothing and the councillors did not know where to look.

'My lords!' Boromir announced, striding into the centre of the circle, sweeping a deep - and deeply ironic - bow. He swigged at the remains of the spirit bottle's contents. By now his liquid supper, liquid breakfast and empty stomach were combining to push Boromir rapidly towards drunken recklessness.

'My lords, in my father's absence, as Captain of the White Tower, I assume command. Today is my birthday and I intend to do what I please, with whom I please. The Southron are not yet knocking at our gates. My report can wait a day until the army arrives and will then be given in full, in detail, painted in blood and gore, in the presence of my deputies and sergeants.'

'But Lord Boromir....'

'Silence! You can wait. I however...' Boromir smirked and drained the bottle '...I cannot wait. I return to my birthday celebrations. Go! Until tomorrow.'

And so just as he had ejected the servants from his dining room the night before, now Boromir dismissed the Council also. Confused and horrified at Boromir's behaviour the councillors rose and departed, muttering groups filtering out of the chamber.

But one figure lingered.

'Lord Boromir, Lord Faramir is missing. Forgive me sire, it has been rumoured that all was not well between you at supper last night. The Council is troubled by his absence and would know...'

Boromir turned slowly to face the speaker, smiling, but the smile was that of a snake before it strikes.

'Lord Iscalon. Lord...Iscalon. Let me assure you that matters are most well between Lord Faramir and myself, most well. And should I choose to spend my birthday buggering my little brother...' the councillor gasped in horror 'Yes, my oh-so easily offended Iscalon, if I choose to spend my birthday fucking my brother's tight arse, stretching him open and forcing myself ever deeper inside until he is torn and bleeding and screaming for mercy - not that there shall be any mercy - if that is what I choose to do, then I shall do it.'

'But Lord Boromir, sire, you cannot do this, he is your brother!' hissed Lord Iscalon.

'Too late, Iscalon. I've been doing it all night.'

Boromir held the old man's arm in a grip of steel, Iscalon trying to back away from both the fury and the swathes of alcohol fumes that threatened to overpower him, but Boromir did not relent and continued to hiss venom.

'And don't pretend that you are shocked. I know you Iscalon, far too well for your own good. I know where your tastes lie. I remember and so do you. We both understand, don't we, that you would never be foolish enough to speak of this conversation. For if you did then I would find myself forced to report to my father that other little talk we had together some time ago. And you wouldn't want that, would you Iscalon?'

For a long moment the two men locked eyes in undisguised hatred, then Boromir’s voice broke the silence.

'Leave me, leave me! Tomorrow you will have my full report. You shall not be disappointed. My brother and I shall sit in serious council and you shall know us only as lords of Gondor. Go! Disturb me no more. I have family matters to attend to.'

Boromir roughly pushed Iscalon away.

Gloating as the old man stumbled, a movement in the clerestory gallery caught Boromir's eye and he glanced upwards. Another figure entered the chamber high above, trailing sleep, reeking of sex, scratched and bruised and bitten, wearing Boromir's soft leather boots against the cold of the stone floors, riding boots, one of which still had a horse whip stuck down the side of it. Faramir was wrapped only in a bed sheet which negligence caused to hide little, and was as engorged as his brother.

There was madness in Boromir's eyes as he gazed at his booted brother, the lust and tension between them thrumming the air. He wanted again to experience what Faramir had introduced him to, wanted more than anything to taste the kiss of that whip from his brother's own hand. Faramir silently descended the stone stairs, coming to a halt at their foot and leaning languidly against a screen within Boromir's line of vision but obscured from Iscalon's view, a seductive contrast to the cold stone figures of the noble kings of old lining the chamber walls.

Boromir turned once more to the aged councillor still scrabbling to retrieve documents dropped in their tussle.

'Iscalon! Get out of here before I take a knife to your throat!'

Iscalon bowed as ironically as Boromir himself had done so earlier before turning to leave.

'And Iscalon...'

The old man halted but did not turn.

'Remember what I said.'

For a moment Iscalon did not move, but a tremor of rage ran through his body. Slowly he retreated to the chamber doorway, but his exit was not final. Looking back he saw that his departure went unwatched and that Boromir was now not alone. Where the shadows of the entrance melded with the long thick tapestries, Iscalon gained a hiding place.

Unnoticed by the brothers he watched, mesmerised and hungry, as Faramir whipped Boromir's naked buttocks and thighs, the shuddering body braced over the council table, breeches pushed down tightly around his knees. Faramir's bed sheet was discarded, revealing the physical and sexual perfection of the steward's second son. As the scarlet welts began to criss-cross Boromir's smooth pale skin, Faramir dropped the whip and plunged his slick cock deep between his brother's arched buttocks.

Iscalon found his hand stroking at the robe between his own thighs, senses overloading. Faramir pounded again and again. Boromir slumped onto the table, his thick, copious seed spilling out of his hand onto the disarrayed parchments, dripping down in long elastic threads to pool on the floor. As the brothers' cries met and mingled, Iscalon whimpered and a sad slow trickle dampened his undergarments.

Somehow - Iscalon was as yet unsure how he could safely achieve this and was content to bide his time, but somehow - their father would know of this disgrace.

Part 2: Faramir's first journey

Third Age, 3012

Years rather than months had passed since the brothers had last been together. Their father had been frighteningly efficient in his unspoken determination to part them, ensuring that each was occupied by responsibility beyond reason and that long difficult miles stood ever between them. Each was occasionally summoned back to Minas Tirith, but never at the same time. Their separation was brilliantly engineered.

But now the growing menace from the south and east made even Denethor relent and demand the dual presence of his captains in the White City. The conference between the three of them had at first been strained almost to breaking point, the brothers unable to speak beforehand, to discover how they now felt towards each other, towards their father, to reforge any mutual alliance. No doubt Denethor had ensured that too. Boromir was a brilliant general, all his speech was of information, tactics, strategy. Faramir was his fellow-captain, the second-in-command of the Gondorian forces, leader still of the Ithilien Rangers.

No hint of warmth or brotherly friendship was offered. Faramir, ever able to read the minds of men with ease despite whatever defences they attempted to erect, felt instinctively that Boromir had dismissed the passion they had once shared and had moved on. Faramir was indeed a respected younger brother, a worthy comrade-in-arms, but was no longer the source and subject of Boromir's darkest lusts, no more the one force that Gondor's greatest warrior could never defeat, before whom he would fall on his knees, pleading for Faramir's touch.

Sorrow stabbed at Faramir's heart. Still he desired his brother above all things, had awaited his return thrilling to the thought of once again tasting his brother's hardness in his mouth, his loins and bowels aching to take and be taken.

But a conference to discuss possible war was no place for such lusts though and Faramir's rational mind finally managed to conquer the images dancing around his brain, forced him to concentrate on military matters, led him to expound in long detail on the activities and organisation of the Rangers and the extent of their knowledge of Mordor's threat. Boromir listened intently, interrupting with pertinent questions and constructive comments.

This was, Faramir supposed, how they should work together, two arms of a great fighting machine, how he must now regard his brother and his general. The public, professional Faramir was a very different figure to the sexual Faramir, the sexual Faramir whose darkest and most dangerous needs only his own brother could unleash, his own brother satisfy.

Boromir had ever been a trigger, flipping him into madness, into another being who would do and say and demand things of which the other Faramir would have been hardly capable. The captain of the Ithilien Rangers would be appalled by many of the debaucheries he had enjoyed with Boromir. He would never have indulged in an afternoon of stretching each other open with anything long and hard and thick they could find, their own fists included, as they took turns to feast their mouths on each others seed. The other Faramir could not have understood the need for repeated clandestine visits to the Chained Tree down in the squalid lower levels of the city, the need to pay for services which had left them bruised and exhausted for days.

The captain would have been outraged and sickened by that incident at the bath-house when the voyeuristic keeper had been discovered masturbating whilst the brothers sucked and pleasured each other. The keeper had been bent over one of the massage beds and subjected to a brutal thrashing by Boromir whilst Faramir stood by, hypnotised, pulling at his cock, until Boromir had thrown aside the disintegrating birch-twigs and plunged himself deep into the sobbing pleading victim. Driven wild by the sight of his brother's member causing so much damage, Faramir had pulled himself half onto the bed and looking deep and desperate into his brother's eyes, terrified by the turn of events yet unable and unwilling to resist them, had forced his tongue hard into Boromir's mouth as they climaxed together.

The bath-keeper had begged forgiveness for his indiscretion, pleaded for them to return to use his bath-house again. They had, and he had watched them again, been punished again, this time lacerated with Boromir's heavily studded belt, the belt that Boromir himself had so often begged to be used on his own soft flesh, then the man's bowels filled again with Boromir's seed whilst Faramir abused his mouth. The bath-house had become a regular destination.

Perhaps would be best if the wild Faramir was quashed. But still he ached for his brother and the evil he had made him do.

It was only when Denethor dropped his quill and was scrabbling to retrieve it, batting at his over-attentive esquire to leave him alone - he was quite capable of picking up his own pen, thank you - that Boromir subjected Faramir to an stare of nerve-shattering intensity then slowly, sensuously, ran his tongue over parted lips. The action spoke more than mere words could ever do and threw Faramir's conclusions into disarray.

The rest of the discussion was luckily once more dominated by the elder brother, Faramir was too disorientated to make any more sense. Denethor finally broke up the meeting and left, pleased with the progress they had made, satisfied that the incestuous relationship that had once disgraced his court had obviously burned out as he had intended through the enforced separation. He had two strong leaders beside him, that was enough. Now he was gone, black robes swirling, esquire trotting at his heels to no doubt be yelled at again.


The brothers still stood where they had risen at their father's departure. The air was tense and Faramir's cock was straining for release, but Boromir was intent on examining a particular part of the table.

'Strange, I thought there would surely be some mark, some burn or scar. But there is naught that I can see.'

'What mark do you seek, my brother?' Faramir's voice was shaky.

Boromir smiled at last, slowly meeting his brother's eyes with a look which ever Faramir had known to prelude danger, excitement, Boromir doing or saying something reckless, usually sexual, hopefully depraved.

'You fucked me over this table once, little brother. Whipped me then rode me bucking and screaming as if I were a wild stallion you could only tame with a cruelty unknown outside the torture-pits of Minas Morgul. Buggered me until my seed spilled over this very spot. I was so sure it would have etched deeply. But there is no mark except for the unquenchable lust I carry in my soul and the scars I bear upon my body. And *within* my body.'

'Ahh, Brom!'

Nothing had changed except that Boromir had become a consummate actor, blinding even Faramir's sharp perceptions. But he was not acting now. Denied each other for so long they must assuage their need to do what brothers should never do. It was pointless to resist.

'I think he was convinced, don't you little brother? He thinks he's broken us, broken our spirits. Fool! Ageing, impotent fool!'

Boromir climbed onto and over the table, kneeling upon it to take Faramir's face between his hands, teasing his mouth with his own as he spoke.

'He needs us now. He cannot part us again. War is coming, maybe not this year, maybe not for many years, but it is coming and we are his captains. There is nothing now he can do to stop us. If he does, he may as well open the Pelennor gates and bid our enemies to enter unhindered.'

'And no Iscalon now to whisper into his ear...'

'What?' Boromir pulled back for a moment.

'It was Iscalon who told him of us.'

'Iscalon? Bastard! I'd murder him if he weren't already dead!'

'I believe father beat you on that one. You were away with the army. I knew something serious had happened between them though quite what was unclear, then just before I was despatched back to Ithilien, Iscalon was suddenly and mysteriously very dead.'

Boromir's carefully digested his brother's news before speaking again.

'I wonder what it was that finally made him give us away, and why he waited so long. I suppose we'll never know now. At least he did wait, at least we had all that time together before he broke. I thought he would never dare... There is some satisfaction to be had, I suppose, if indeed father rewarded his treachery with death. I just hope it was particularly protracted and painful. The twisted, perverted child-fucking bastard!'

'Child-fucking?'

'Oh gods Fara! He wanted *you*! As if you were some servant's brat trained for the purpose and ripe for the plucking, not the son of the Steward! Luckily he was too ancient to do much about it, but I had to scare him off pretty forcefully when you were oh, twelve, thirteen or so. That's why I thought he'd never give us away, because I had that hold over him.'

'Scare him off so you could fuck me yourself later on? My own brother, against every law of the land?'

'Would you really have preferred to have Iscalon's scaly fingers up your arse than mine?'

'Yours was the only body I ever wanted. I knew that from the moment my loins first stirred. That day at the stables. I knew then what I wanted and that I wanted it with you.'

'You remember that? You knew then? You were so young! Blessed Valar I should have taken you then and there!'

Faramir's answer was to plunge his hot tongue deep into his brother's mouth.

Boromir slid one hand down into the neck of Faramir's shirt, seeking a tender nipple to pinch and twist.

'You still want me, don't you little brother?'

Faramir nodded, gasping for breath.

'And I still want you. Gods! You're still as beautiful as ever, I can never stop wanting you. I've buggered a good few cadets since last we met but none of them were enough, none of them gave me what I need, what only you can give me. Satisfy me, Fara!'

Boromir pushed his brother back into his seat and straightened to pull down his own close-fitting leggings and release the throbbing cock within, red and hard and aching for Faramir's mouth. He did not have to ask again, he knew his brother was powerless to resist. Faramir arched forward, taking his brother deep into him, one hand cupping Boromir's balls, the other working between the buttocks, then raising that hand to find Boromir's face, his mouth, demanding that the fingers also be sucked to ease their passage as they returned to assault the puckered flesh.

Working deep, ignoring the resisting muscles, Faramir found the sweet spot where his touch, he knew, would drive his brother to his climax, stroking and coaxing then pushing without respite as Boromir cried out and flooded his throat. Sucking Boromir's length to capture every drop of his release, Faramir extracted his fingers and sat back to fondle his own groin. Boromir was sweating, his hair slicked darkly across his face and neck, breathing rapidly.

'Greetings, dearest brother' he laughed, slipping off the table to sit himself in Faramir's lap, arms around his neck, grinding into the hardness 'I appreciate your enthusiastic welcome. Perhaps now you would care to adjourn to your chamber, or to mine, it matters not, where, as your general, I will conduct an extended, intimate, very private, very personal inspection, will ensure that all your needs are met, and will abuse you to my heart's content.'

Boromir's power was irresistible. Faramir pushed his brother off before he was driven to spilling his seed in his hand, stood and regarded his insatiable, demonic lover. Bowing to his leader, he acquiesced.

'Lord Boromir, sire, you are my general and I am ever yours to command. There is nothing I would not do for you. My heart, my soul, my body are yours alone.'

'With the emphasis on the body, I hope! Captain Faramir, attend me in my chamber immediately' Boromir crushed his brother to him and whispered hoarsely in his ear. 'Where your orders are to stick your hungry wet tongue as far up my tight arse as you can, followed by that plunging stallion's prick of yours. Understood?'

'Sire' Faramir was rubbing himself against Boromir's groin 'I hear and am ever eager to obey.'

'Sauron's balls! What would your Rangers make of you now if they saw you? I'm going to get some wine. Be there. Oh, and if I uncover any evidence of insubordination, any evidence whatsoever, even the most trivial of lapses, you shall of course be punished. Harshly.'

Boromir stalked off towards the buttery, Faramir watching with keen interest the sliding muscles of the departing rump, relishing the resumption of his brother's sexual power-games. Whatever happened next would be spontaneous and extreme, both knowing that the brutality of their acts reflected the violent depths of their love for each other, was the only true expression they could find for it.

Then he slipped away, as only an experienced ranger could, into the shadows of the Citadel's dark corridors.




It had been over ten years since Faramir had first given himself to his brother, had given in to the maelstrom of lust that had overwhelmed them both, given in to his need for Boromir to take and hurt his beautiful body, discovering an unexpected yet desperate need to hurt in return. Now both were effective soldiers, great leaders of men, Faramir nearly almost out of his twenties, Boromir in his mid-thirties. Both were adults in the prime of life who should no longer be prey to debauched desires for his own brother, let alone seek to indulge and satisfy such perversions.

But the strengths and abilities that made them such capable warriors, hardened battle-captains deterred by no force or foe, would but crumble and whither against the onslaught presented by the simple physical presence of the other. Helpless to resist, Faramir knew that nothing had changed. Still they would risk losing all again, but still they would take each other with the ferocity both so desperately craved.

But there had been occasions of great tenderness also, fewer on Boromir's part and thus more precious when they came, unannounced, often opening out of or building into renewed brutality, rare and precious jewels of his love for Faramir. And now, as he waited expectantly in Boromir's chamber, Faramir's mind saw again one such tender coupling, an exquisite evening when Boromir's gentleness seemed endless and his touch was ever slow.

Boromir had come to Faramir's chamber to find his brother bathing. Wordlessly and slowly, he had stripped sensuously, watching his brother harden and begin to fondle his cock in the warm water. Then Boromir had knelt, removed Faramir's hand from his groin and carefully washed every nook of his brother's body, crooning softly, hypnotising and relaxing, his song punctuated by some of the longest, slowest kisses they ever exchanged. Faramir had been lifted from the water and carried unprotesting to his bed where he had been arranged face down, limbs gently drawn away from his torso, for Boromir to take sweetly scented oil and massage him slowly and thoroughly from his toes to his neck.

It seemed to last for hours. Still Boromir had sung to him, whispering words he could not catch. Only one spot had Boromir neglected. Seductively had his slippery fingers moved between parted Faramir's buttocks and circled his opening teasingly. But the satisfaction Faramir arched for was denied, his body firmly pushed back down onto the bed, Boromir only offering a lingering kiss on that sweetest of sites, before renewing his ministrations elsewhere.

Faramir's skin was alive with fire when Boromir rolled him over and repeated the treatment on his front. He reached to take his aching cock but again his brother prevented his release, this time using soft silk scarves stolen from Faramir's own closet to tie wrists and ankles to the four bedposts, loosely but firmly so that he was not strained or discomforted, but nor could he escape. Then a scarf was wrapped around Faramir's eyes and thin laces of leather bound tightly about his balls and the very root of his erection. He lay in complete submission to his brother's will. Oiled and massaged again from head to foot, Faramir could only moan softly, repetitively, desperate for Boromir to take him, he did not care how.

Finally, after how long he could not tell, Faramir felt his brother climb onto the bed and crouch astride him. He was kissed deeply, then Boromir held the agonisingly bound cock upright and gradually eased himself down onto its engorged and thickened length, gasping and shuddering. Faramir had sobbed at this most tortuous of seductions.

Boromir had remained motionless, silent from the pain of the fearful stretching, then began to move almost imperceptibly, his tightness gripping at Faramir's girth, impaling himself again and again, faster, harder, deeper, the cords cutting into them both, somehow holding himself back, then raising himself so that only the crown of Faramir's cock was still held inside him, scrabbling to release his brother from the wet bonds, cutting and burning him in the process.

Finally he had plunging back to bring Faramir to a body-shattering climax before lurching forward to spurt his own seed over his brother's quivering lips, letting the hot liquid pool over face and neck before licking him clean, taking his own salty cream into his mouth only to kiss it back into Faramir's, fascinated as his brother swallowed and gasped and moaned for more.

'Suckle, little brother' he had whispered.




By the time Boromir arrived with a basket of food and wine seemingly large enough to last them for some days, Faramir was flushed and excited by his memories. Reliving that tender evening was good, was arousing, but Faramir's long-denied dark side had risen and was demanding satisfaction, the violent side over which he had total control in every other situation was now unleashed, and he relished it.

'What've you been rubbing yourself over?' enquired his brother 'The thought of me and my cock doing you some damage, I hope.'

Faramir grasped his brother by the scruff of the neck and threatened to hoist him off the ground with one hand. Grabbing the bread-knife protruding from the food basket he pressed it close to Boromir's throat.

'I thought it was *you* who wanted some damage from *my* prick' he whispered 'So I'm going to thrust into you dry and unprepared, take my pleasure from your pain.'

Boromir dropped the basked and grasped Faramir's cock through his leggings, kneading it hard.

'Rape me...' he begged.

The thought of Boromir brutally buggering his junior staff rushed back into Faramir's fervid imagination and from that he took his cue. Dropping the knife he wrestled his brother around to face away from him, bent an arm upwards, pinned it to Boromir's back and threw him hard against the stone wall, hearing and feeling the breath forced out of the body as he crushed it.

Ripping open the thongs of his leggings he spat on his palm and massaged his already wet and weeping cock then pulled at Boromir's clothing. Spitting on his fingers again he thrust them hard into the resisting opening, scissored and thrust again, working his hand ruthlessly against the muscles. Boromir moaned and protested, but Faramir silenced him by grasping his hair, pulling his head back then crashing it onto the stonework.

'This is what you do to those boys, isn't it? This is how you take them, how you punish them?'

Boromir nodded weakly, dazed and in pain. Faramir pushed his cock between the tensed buttocks and held it there, throbbing, oozing.

'You feel how hard I am? How big I am? Can you imagine the pain when I tear your arse open like you tear those boys?'

Boromir struggled, 'Please, Fara...please, you're hurting me...'

'Tell me that you want it. Tell me. Say it. You want me to fuck you. Say it!'

Boromir's skull was smashed into the wall again 'Say it!'

'Fuck me...' he whimpered

'And how do you want me to fuck you? Tell me!'

'Please...fuck me hard. I need it hard...hurt me...'

Roaring, Faramir rammed into Boromir, out of control at the thought of the agony to which he was subjecting his brother. Boromir's legs buckled under the onslaught but Faramir had the strength to support him, jamming his angry cock against Boromir's weakening resistance until he was engulfed in an unbearable tightness, his cock exploding when he saw blood seeping from the place where they were joined. He withdrew sharply, knowing that action would only double Boromir's suffering, let his brother thud to the floor, them kicked him hard in the stomach.

'You wanted damage, you got damage' he hissed, before adjusting his clothes and attacking instead the first of the wine flagons, sitting to watch Boromir as he lay panting and sobbing. Eventually the elder brother managed to clamber unsteadily to his hands and knees, pulled up his leggings and crawled slowly over to where Faramir sat. A bruise was forming above one eye.

'Fara, oh gods Fara, I'm bleeding badly. What have you done to me?' he groaned

'Remember that, next time you feel like brutalising a stable boy.'

Boromir nodded silently, then curled up weeping at his brother's feet.

'Fara' he whispered 'I adore you.'




'Why am I like this with you, Brom?'

Recovered, naked in each other's arms, Faramir was disturbed by the intense brutality to which he had subjected his brother.

'It's as if I become possessed, evil. I know I am regarded as an ideal captain, a model of noble and courteous manner, and it comes simply and easily to me to be so. I have had many lovers since we were parted, with some of them I have been rough and have been roughly treated in return. But when I'm with you, it is truly dangerous. And I love it. And now we are back together again, what happens if I lose control, what happens if the violence comes to dominate me? What if I become nothing more than a sexual monster? It scares me Brom, I scare myself.'

Boromir, usually dismissive of such introspection, raised himself onto one elbow and regarded his little brother. The bruise on his forehead was now a large dark lump.

'I believe you have nothing to fear, little brother. It is a part of your nature, but not the whole part. You say that a noble manner comes naturally to you. Well, that is good, essential for a captain of the elite Ithilien Rangers. Not so good, however, for the leader of the rabble that is the Host of Gondor, which is why you are one and I am the other. I am not good and kind and respectful to my men in the same way that you are to yours, but it is what is necessary for the situation in which I am placed, and therefore it is right. Courteous behaviour comes to me with difficulty, though I know that it is necessary and will act accordingly when it is demanded of me.'

'Not, though, when you're standing before the Council and wearing my breeches...'

Faramir received a thump for his comment.

'Gods Fara, they were tight! They felt so good on my skin! I could come just walking around in them. No, let me finish. I do not consider myself or my actions very often but this is important. I have a streak of goodness and nobility in me which is often subdued by my anger, by my need for violence. Somewhat like father, I suppose. You, I think, are the opposite, my mirror-image. You are full of respect and pity for your fellow men, you understand people well and they love you for it. But deep down you too have a streak that craves violence, just as I also crave the pain it brings me, something we cannot find elsewhere. I give you that release, need what you give me and adore you for it. Somehow I cannot see that for the ranger captain to regularly indulge in the whipping and buggering of his unwilling men would help much with morale or spirit.'

Now Boromir got a thump.

'The army, however, sees my power through my actions, fears it, respects it. It is how things are, for good or bad. Do not worry, little brother. I do take it, though, that in the years we have been apart you have *not* been inflicting yourself upon your men without their consent. What have you been up to? Who have you subjecting to your brutality? Have you got yourself a body-servant to take it all out on?'

'No, no body-servant. It has never been practical to do so, always moving around and on duty in the wilds with the Rangers. The same with you and the army I suppose. Perhaps now that it seems likely I am to be here more often I shall do so, if one I like is offered to me. I have however taken many lovers over the years though how many I no longer know, too many to count or recall, some amongst the Rangers although discretely, even lain with a woman at times...'

Boromir snorted in disgust.

'An elf, once...'

'An *elf*? Do they *have* cocks?

Faramir laughed. 'Oh yes, amazing cocks, and they know what to do with them. Well, this elf certainly did!'

'Tell me Fara! Tell me in detail!'

'It goes a long way back. You remember the flask I gave you, the one I gave you when I gave you myself?'

Boromir hugged his brother to him, kissed him gently.

'How could I ever forget? The sweetest gift, my greatest treasure.'

'I rescued an elf. From orcs. I had been tracking them for some days up in north Ithilien. When I finally found them they had surrounded an elf. I cannot imagine what he was doing there, but he was outnumbered. Even with his bow he could not defeat them all, but the two of us were enough and together we slaughtered them. After the last orc fell the elf came to me. He looked deep into my eyes and said "My thanks, Faramir of the White City, Faramir son of Denethor, brother of Boromir. The blood of Númenor and of the Eldar runs true in your veins. You have my my thanks and my love. I offer you a gift in gratitude, a gift to light your way and to guide your path. Until we meet again."
Then he was gone, a shadow through the trees, and in my hand was the flask.'

'But I thought you said you had him. Or that he had you. Though his gift certainly eased your passage!'

Boromir sniggered and was thumped.

'I've not finished yet. Many years later I was again in the north with a small patrol. We had made camp for the night but I could not rest. I never kenw whether sleep did come to me eventually or whether I lay in a stupor, but gradually I realised that the stars had moved, were changed. They seemed wrong, I could recognise none of the constellations. Then I knew that he was near.'

'The elf?'

'The elf. I rose and left my sleeping companions. I knew which way to go through the trees, a silvery path led me onwards. And out of the trees he came and embraced me once more. He spoke my name, called me beloved, held me close and kissed my face, my neck, my throat so gently, his lips hardly brushing my skin, and I returned his kisses likewise. White fire was running through my veins, my every nerve was burning, there was no time, no space, just ourselves exploring each other's bodies.

We pulled off our shirts and I gazed at his body in the fay light around us, supple and slim yet strongly muscled, his hair was golden and he was smooth and white like a young birch tree. Then we were running our hands and mouths over every inch of skin we could find. Still we did not speak, we needed no words and I felt no hesitancy about what I was doing, about what was being done to me. Finally he held me at arm's length, regarding me, and whispered "Faramir, my beloved, you are most perfect, most beautiful. Give yourself to me."'

'Which of course you did.'

Faramir nodded.

'Tell me Fara, I want to hear it.' Boromir was slowly rubbing at his cock.

'We lost the last of our clothes, desperate to be naked. Neither of us had any boots on. And then again we gazed at each other, admiring our bodies. He was stunning, Brom. His cock was - you are not going to believe this - his cock was bejewelled!'

'What?!'

'Jewels! They glinted in the starlight, stars themselves. Little bars of mithril pierced through the skin of his cock, and on each end were tiny jewels. Just the thought of them dragging inside me was almost more than I could stand. I knelt to take it into my mouth - you know how I always need to first taste the cock that fucks me - his taste, his scent was like nothing I have known before, intoxicating.

‘Licking those jewelled bars was terrifying, knowing what they were going to do to me. As I sucked him they cut into the flesh of my mouth. I was desperate to feel them gouging at my tightness, ripping my arse. I was pulling at his balls, they were so full and heavy I was wild at the thought of all that hot seed pulsing into me. I feared that he would be undone in my mouth so gradually I released him and raised my eyes to his. They were truly stars and there was a star also upon his brow.

‘He knelt down with me, kissed me slowly and deeply, then laid me on my back and raised my knees, pushed my legs right back against my chest, bent me so my arse was in the air, stroked and licked my cock, pushed his tongue up inside me. His tongue was amazing, so strong and agile, licking so hard. When he withdrew he lay me back down and rose over me, kissed me so that I could taste myself on his mouth. I know that by then I was wild and writhing, parting my thighs wide, begging for him to take me. When he entered me it was as if a fiery sword pierced me. He had no oil or salve yet he slid into me easily, deeper and deeper.

'At first I could not feel the jewels, but then he began to plunge, thrusting his full length. Brom, it was the most exquisite suffering. I knew that I was torn and bleeding yet I wanted more, demanded more, and he answered my every cry with thrusts which grew in power until only death seemed possible, and I was happy to die from the pain he gave me. It would have been the sweetest death. Just as his kisses had lasted an eternity, so his thrusts lasted an eternity more. At one point I was aware that the stars above had moved and wheeled again. Yet still I did not spill my seed, somehow I held on to my release though he was touching me again and again on that deep spot you know so well...'

Moaning softly, Boromir reached upwards to kiss his brother

'Finish it, Fara, finish me...'

'Finally he crashed into me and filled me. It seemed that his seed was light and life itself that he poured into me. Then he bent that supple body and took me in his mouth and I filled him, bucking into his mouth as he held my hips. Never before or since have I come like that. It seemed never to end. His lips milked my every drop and I was sobbing with pleasure.'

Boromir cried out as he came. Faramir sealed his mouth with the deepest of kisses before continuing, caring not whether Boromir heard or understood.

'He eased me to the ground and lay upon me, once more his lips were gentle on my skin, caressing me, ceaselessly he whispered my name and I was weeping. He turned me onto my stomach and licked deep into me, soothing and healing the very wounds that he had inflicted upon me. As he did so I came again. Then gently he held me and lulled me to sleep, crooning some elvish song. I slept, and when I awoke I was at the camp lying under my cloak.'

Boromir was silent for a while.

'Fara, that was beautiful. You are beautiful. But was he a vision or was he real? The tale reeks of magic!'

'I do not know. At first I thought it but a dream, a vision. But Brom, I was spent, was empty, yet had not spilled my seed under my cloak. The taste of him was still in my mouth, I was filled with an energy and power I had not known before, and still my body was wracked with the sweetest agony from the force of his love-making. I have no idea who he was.'

'Gods, Fara, I would like to feel his jewelled prick tear me asunder!'

Boromir snuggled against his brother and found that he was hard. He glanced up.

'Fara. Take my mouth.'

'Ah! you are insatiable!'

'And your sweet cock is irresistible. Fuck my mouth. You know you want to, and I'm not letting you near my arse for a while after what you did to it. Think of me as your elven lover, his tiny mouth straining to take you.'

Boromir slid off the bed, pulling Faramir with him into a seated position on the edge. Kneeling, Boromir spread his brother's long legs as wide as he could then dragged a long wet tongue slowly over his balls and the up long length of the shaft. Faramir watched, fascinated, tangling his fingers in Boromir's hair. Boromir's lips teased him, offering then drawing back, tempting and tantalising, murmuring seductively.

'Do you want my mouth, Fara? My soft wet mouth? Do you want to make me taste your seed? Do you want to force me to swallow all you can give? Bruise me, Fara, make me take every sweet inch of you, fill my throat...'

Boromir was silenced as Faramir grabbed his head and plunged his erection between his brother's open lips, pulling Boromir back and forth to force his contracting throat to yield, finally breaching it so that he was buried and his aching balls slammed against his brother's beard.

'Swallow me you whore! Suck me dry! Swallow me!' he moaned, bucking hard.

Faramir was now half-standing. Boromir snaked a hand between the pumping buttocks and eased a finger still slicked with his own juices into Faramir's tightness, added another, crooked them and delved for his brother's weakness.

Faramir groaned and filled Boromir's ever-hungry mouth with the juice his brother thirsted for.

'Suck me, suck me, suck me...'

Chests heaving they collapsed together onto the floor, lay unable to move, then slowly pulled each other back onto the bed, wrapping furs and blankets around themselves. Faramir kissed his brother's swollen brow.

'Sorry for the knock, Brom'

'Oh, I've had worse from the Southron. But next time you decide to play that game, maybe I'll wear my battle-helmet.'

Part 3: Aragorn's journey

Fourth Age, late Spring 03

Aragorn had shouted at Faramir. Unnecessarily. Shouted in anger and tiredness at the end of a particularly protracted and profitless council meeting. Publically insulted his steward.

He felt terrible.

When his temper had subsided and his head had stopped throbbing he'd gone looking for his victim to apologise, but Faramir was nowhere to be found within the city. Instead, Aragorn had ended up drinking with Imrahil whose selective deafness, so evident during the fraught meeting, appeared to have improved dramatically. He enjoyed the company of the prince who stood on no ceremony with his king yet whose loyalty, devotion and respect were, Aragorn knew, absolute. It was a refreshing relationship.

'I *must* apologise for my behaviour...' he had moaned

'A king can shout at whomsoever he likes. Denethor also did his share of shouting.'

'Usually at Faramir.'

'Hmm. Well, the pup certainly deserved it often enough. The both of them. Appalling behaviour.'

Aragorn chose not to pursue Imrahil's remark, though it only served as confirmation of what he already knew about his steward, a secret knowledge which offered a dark thrill.

'Prince Faramir in no way deserves what I did to him today. He is the most excellent of stewards. I could not wish for more from any man.'

'Well you certainly get an easier time of it with him than you would have done from young Boromir!'

'I believe that Boromir would have accepted me as his king.'

Aragorn kept his reasons for this belief to himself. He had shared that secret with only one other, the one he would share all his secrets with.

'Do you really think he would have acknowledged you? Given up the rule of Gondor to some upstart northern ranger just like that? I knew him better than you, he was headstrong, arrogant. No, you'd have had your hands full with him, my lad, mark my words.'

'Which is why I am so grateful for the steadfast support I receive from Faramir, why I need to find him and to apologise.'

'He's always been a problem, that one.'

Aragorn smiled to himself at Imrahil's ability to blow hot and cold.

'You have no idea where he might have gone?'

'No idea, none at all. Always a problem. Far too much elf in him I reckon. Sometimes even think I've seen a star on his brow. Any more wine?'

Despite his anguish, Aragorn laughed to himself, knowing that it was Imrahil's side of the family that had brought elvish blood to the wild and mysterious mixture that was Faramir. Imrahil's blustering was, like his deafness, intermittent. Aragorn knew the prince had a keen grasp on what went on around him which why he was still so important a member of the council, though Imrahil's son Amlachil would surely beg to differ. And he too had seen something elvish shimmering on Faramir's brow. There was a deepness about his steward that the king yearned to unlock.

'Imrahil, I am much concerned for Faramir. Not just because of my shouting at him, though that was bad enough.'

He paused, collecting his thoughts before continuing.

'He seems so...withdrawn. It feels like he's shut out everyone and everything, almost as if he is frozen. I cannot reach him anymore. I think that is partly why I shouted at him, from frustration. I watch him and he seems so changed. There has been so much sorrow, so much loss in his life, that he has been able to bear it is a wonder, and for so long he has. But now, now I feel as if I am losing him. I don't know why, I don't know what has happened. And I cannot bear to lose him, Imrahil.'

The prince regarded his king carefully, weighing his words.

'Hmm. Éowyn leaving was a mixed blessing, of course...'

'Your meaning?'

'Oh, she was much like my sister Finduilas. Remember her? I never can recall where you fit in these days. I saw the same pain in her eyes. Hated Minas Tirith, longed for open spaces, wildness, wind in her hair... Oh dear!'

A tear ran from a crinkled eye.

'Never forgave Denethor for breaking her heart. Should have let her come back to Dol Amroth. At least the pup did the decent thing. Knew what was happening. Saw his mother in the girl, let her go. Girl hated all this stone, wanted some wood around her. Hated Emyn Arnen too, cooped up under the mountains, not on them, you see. Nice little hunting lodge though, if you ask me. Tried to escape in other ways, that attempt to be a healer for instance. Never going to work, no real patience. Was doing it for herself, not others.

Now she's free and she'll come and go as she pleases. At least the child ties her with Faramir. Good job there was an heir before she went off. But she'll be happy now and grateful. Weight off the pup's mind I think, in the end. But sad too, of course.'

'There are other weights on his mind, Imrahil. I would that I might help him, ease his sorrows, whatever they may be. But he is so far away from me now. And I do not know where he has gone.'

Imrahil was not surprised to see tears on Aragorn's cheek. He filled their goblets and waited.

'There seems no life in his eyes anymore. Ever they were bright, brilliant. And he smiles not. I watch his face yet there is no trace of joy. It grieves me Imrahil, more than you can know, it grieves me.'

Aragorn paused. Imrahil watched and waited.

'When he first awoke in the Houses of Healing, when I called him back from the darkness, it was as if a bright light pierced my soul and I was glad, my heart was filled with a joy I not known before. He is beautiful beyond compare and I love him Imrahil, so very deeply do I love him, but I do not know how to help him.'

The king was openly weeping. Imrahil knew he now had to speak, yet these were difficult words.

'Aragorn, look at me lad, and listen with your heart as well as your head. How do you love him? I mean, is it beyond his being your steward and your friend? Do you *want* him, want him as a lover? He’s not the only one to end up with a mess of a marriage. It might not be an easy course, though not the first time of course - king and steward together you know - but if you truly love the pup...'

Aragorn let the tears fall as he tried to control his breathing. He could not fight both at once, and he needed his breath to speak.

'I do love him truly, Imrahil. And I would love him more, much more if he would only let me. I would love him with my heart, my soul, and yes, with my body also.'

Aragorn ended on a whisper.

'Hmmm. Thought as much. You said before that you didn't know what has happened to Faramir recently but I think that you deceive yourself. I've seen you watching him. Expect he has too. And if so then he'll know what you're thinking. He's not stupid, you know.'

Faramir was, Aragorn thought, one of the least stupid people he had ever met.

'The pup's been badly scalded. Never forget that. He's lost everyone and everything he's ever cared for. His world changed whilst he was lost in the darkness. When you pulled him back everything was different. Denethor gone mad, tried to kill the lad and then killed himself, the Pelennor ravaged, city almost lost, half his comrades slaughtered, war won, Sauron defeated, lost king returned, no more ruling stewards. And he missed out on half of the battles. Sometimes I've wondered whether I did the right thing bringing him back half-alive from that mad death-charge. No wonder he went off with the first pretty girl he set eyes upon. Natural reaction. Wrong one, of course. Now she's gone too, for better or worse, and taken the child with her.

'He's hurt, Aragorn, incredibly badly hurt. If he's seen you looking at him the way you have been doing - and if I can see from your eyes what you want from him, then don't doubt it he can see it too - he's probably terrified. Desperately needs a bit of love, terrified that he'll lose it again and end up even more scarred. Probably taking it all out on that body-servant of his. So he's put up all his defences, won't let you nor anyone else in. He's a soldier, after all. What can you expect, poor lad? And then you go and yell at him! He's no doubt totally confused. Won't know if you love him or hate him now, whether he wants you or not. And of course, he'll never get over Boromir. Wherever he is, he's gone to hide like a wounded animal. And if he doesn't want to be found then he won't be. Damned good ranger, you know, one of the best.'

Aragorn refilled Imrahil's goblet, contemplating both the spoken and unspoken words that had passed between them.

'Should I seek him or wait for him to come back? If I just wait...'

'Let you sort that one out for yourself, my lad.' Imrahil drained his wine in one draught.

'An early bed for me, I think. Getting old, aching bones, not what I was you know.'

The prince unfolded his always amazingly tall body and Aragorn rose to embrace his friend.

'Prince Imrahil, words can not express my gratitude for your candour, your understanding. You are Prince Faramir's closest relative. I should ask for your blessing.'

The prince knelt to kiss his king's ring, blustered once more then headed towards the door. Aragorn turned to the open casement, watching the bright stars and wondering where Faramir was, whether he too was watching the stars. Then Imrahil was back at his shoulder, urgent, concerned.

'Aragorn! If what you wish comes to pass, then remember this. Faramir, well, in his past, urm...he was, let us say, uninhibited. I don't know all of it and I don't want to. No-one knows all of it now, only himself of course. But...well, there was deep depravity, violence,...sordid, shocking, shocking... They probably would have ended up killing each other eventually. I can only warn you - there's a hidden streak in him that may yet be dangerous.'

Imrahil again turned to go, again returned.

'And Aragorn, whatever you do don't hurt the pup. He needs to be loved but he can't take any more pain. He's my sister's child and I love him for that, see her in him many a time, many a time... I beg of you, don't break *his* heart as well.'

Then he was gone, taking the rest of the wine with him.




Aragorn could not sleep.

Faramir's absence ate at him, as did his own inability to find him and the realisation that he knew so little about the man he professed to love, did not know where Faramir's bolt-hole might be. The gatewardens had earlier assured him that Faramir had not left the city, but the man was a ranger and in truth would have been able to slip out of anywhere unseen if he so desired. Aragorn forced himself to lie still and concentrate, attempt to put himself in Faramir's position, try to think like him, to do what he might do.

In the end the answer came so easily that Aragorn was up and dressed and out of his chamber before he fully realised what he was doing or where he was going. It was good to be wearing his old ranger gear again, however worn and dishevelled it might be, though why he had it on he was not quite clear. Perhaps because he was going to seek another ranger. It was a second skin, one that had seen him through too many battles to now be recalled and this latest foray, though very different, would be no less a trial than any he had faced during the War of the Ring. The danger might not be physical this time, but there were two hearts in danger of great hurt.

The door to the antechamber was unlocked, though hidden by a thick curtain so that many now probably walked past forgetting that the entrance was there at all. Aragorn closed the door silently behind him and was in total darkness. Now all he had to do was wait.




At last, at long last, the inner door opened and closed and Aragorn was no longer alone in the darkness. There was a moment's pause.

'My liege.'

It was a statement, not a question. Aragorn could not see his steward nor surely could he be seen, yet Faramir knew he was there.

'How long have you been out here?'

'Long enough for the cold to eat into my bones. I did not feel it was right to disturb you, so I waited. I looked for you all day. I came to apologise, Faramir. I'm sorry for what I said. It was unforgivable.'

'Then I take it that you are not expecting me to forgive you?'

Aragorn rose with difficulty, stretching his aching limbs. Where was Faramir in this darkness?

'I wanted to find you. I didn't want you to hate me. What I said was unnecessary and I have no excuse. I'm sorry, Faramir.'

'How did you know where I was?'

'I didn't. Not at first. I looked everywhere but had no idea where you had gone. Thought you might even have left the city. I ended up spending the evening drinking with Imrahil. He had no ideas either so I went to bed but was too upset to sleep. Angry with myself and my behaviour, angry that I'd insulted you. Annoyed that I didn't know you well enough to find you. Furiously angry because I hurt you when I love you so very much. I should have told you that rather than shout at you. Should have told you ages ago.'

There. He'd said it. But there was no reaction. Aragorn continued, desperate for some voice in the darkness.

'Then suddenly it was obvious. So here I am. You missed supper. I raided the kitchens on the way here, there's a big basket of food and wine if you want some.'

A low grumble from Faramir's stomach answered.

'Not here, not here...' he whispered and Aragorn's heart bled for him.

More aware now of where Faramir was standing, Aragorn stepped towards him, reaching out into the darkness. His hand made contact with cloth, with body heat, identified an arm, and snaked around to take his steward into an awkward but gentle embrace that was not spurned.

'I called you out of the darkness once before, Faramir. Don't let it take you again, I beg of you. I love you. By the Valar, I need you. Don't let go, please.'

'Not here...'

Faramir twisted gently out of Aragorn's grasp and headed towards the outer door of what had once been Boromir's antechamber.




It had been a strange candlelit meal, taken on a stone bench on a cold balcony looking east towards Faramir's home in Emyn Arnen, no hint of dawn yet beyond the mountains. Faramir was at first almost silent and Aragorn tried not to press him to talk if he did not so desire, just to have found him and to be with him should be enough, though restraining himself was so very difficult. He was aware that he had perhaps already said too much but having held back for so very long, he was now finding it almost impossible not to pour out the story of his overwhelming love for Faramir.

When the steward did speak, his words were the last that Aragorn expected to hear.

'Éowyn is with child again.'

Aragorn nearly choked on his mouthful, had to cough hard before he could respond.

'How? When? Is it yours?'

Faramir nodded.

'It is mine, she assures me and I believe her. When? During my last visit to Edoras. How? By the usual method.'

'You still *lie* with her?'

Aragorn found himself strangely disturbed by the thought, almost jealous, and there had been something like anger in his voice.

'Éowyn remains my wife, though we are parted. There is still some kind of desire between us at times. Did my liege not also lay with the Queen when she was last here, yet long now she tarries in Lothlorien with your son and the last of her kind?'

Almost insubordinate, but Aragorn knew he deserved the riposte and that he must answer.

'Arwen... Arwen and I... Yes, with ourselves also there is desire at times, though since Eldarion was born the times have been few. Arwen is still elfkind and has found the love of a man, the body and needs of a man, difficult to understand. Despite her long years she was quite innocent when she first came to me. I... I asked things of her I should not, things she found distasteful... '

Aragorn's pale blue eyes met Faramir's grey ocean-depths and there was sadness and understanding between them, perhaps a hopeful acknowledgement of a future intimacy where no words would be needed.

'I too asked things of Éowyn which she could not fulfil... for her to take me in her mouth...to let me enter her as a man enters another man...'

Faramir's head was bowed and his voice but a hoarse whisper.

'She was disgusted. I thought that living amongst rough horsemen she would know. I would have used my body-servant alone for such purposes, but she was horrified by his presence as well. They have no such practice in Rohan. She demanded that he be sent away, so then there was no outlet for my needs and I tried to vent them upon Éowyn. I should have bought myself a whore rather than use her like that.'

Aragorn was obviously distressed at these words.

'I did not know. I should have been there for you, Faramir, for whatever you wanted from my body.'

Faramir looked up, startled.

As soon as he had spoken Aragorn regretted his words, knew that he must not push Faramir any more quickly than he wished to go or once more his steward might retreat in fear.

'Forgive me. I should not have spoken.'

Faramir did not acknowledge Aragorn's words, only gazed at him with a look the king could not yet fathom, a terrifying mixture of pain and desire and despair. Long moments passed before Faramir spoke again.

'I grieve for Éowyn. I wish we could have found pleasure in each other's bodies, but I am, I believe, like my brother, destined to find true fulfilment only with other men. The touch and taste of another man... That is a joy I can never tire of, something for which I ever hunger.'

Aragorn was greatly aroused and dared not meet his companion's eyes. Could Faramir not sense what his words were doing to him? He was, Aragorn supposed, paying him back for his own unguarded, provocative speech. The king's prick was hard and aching for his steward to suck until it exploded its rich salt cream within his mouth. Desperately he fought to regain control of both himself and the situation. He picked at the remains of their supper, trying to change the subject.

'What happened to your body-servant?'

'Edrill? I provided for him and recalled him when Éowyn left. He has been with me for many years now and is loyal, almost a friend, though I find increasingly that he cannot satisfy me, that the gratification of my lust is not enough, that I need something more. And I am only just coming to know what that need is.'

Aragorn placed a gentle yet shaking hand upon Faramir's arm. It was taking every ounce of his strength to restrain himself, yet restrain himself he must.

'Faramir, you know that I love you. Should you need me, should you need my love, I will be waiting for you. And I am prepared to wait.'

'I know. Please, give me time.'

'You have all the time you need.'




When they reached Faramir's chamber they had stood before the closed door unspeaking and Aragorn had known that he could not demand entrance. He had embraced his steward once more, firmly yet gently holding the man to him as he had so often wished to do as the long moments passed, burying his head in Faramir's long soft hair, nuzzling his face against the coarser beard.

'Faramir, you smell of sweet herbs and meadow grass and summer rain' he had murmured, inhaling deeply.

'And you smell of old leather and pipeweed and too much wine. It gave you away in the darkness.'

'A most excellent ranger!'

Aragorn had held Faramir's face close to his own, kissed his brow, then stood forehead to forehead, glorying in being so close to the man he adored.

'I wish you'd release that body-servant of yours and chain me in his place.'

Aragorn laughed gently as he spoke, but both men knew that he did not jest.

Faramir did not move within the king's embrace and at last Aragorn whispered again - 'Goodnight, my sweet prince' - and their lips had met in the most tentative of kisses.

'Goodnight, my lord king. You will allow me the time I need to think?'

Aragorn had nodded sadly and released what he wanted to hold forever and turned to leave, had walked slowly away without turning, aching to be called back.

But Faramir was not yet ready to call.




Amongst the council members only Imrahil guessed at the real reason for the cancellation of all meetings for the next month. Nor was he surprised to receive a personal morning visit from the king shortly after the message had reached him.

'Found him then? Where had he got himself to?

'I'll let you sort that one out for yourself.'

'Where's he now?'

'In bed. Hopefully asleep. And *no*' - the last in response to a querying look on Imrahil's face - '*nothing* has yet happened between us, though we have had long and intimate speech together. He knows my feelings, what I desire, how much I need him. But I promised you that I would not hurt him. I love him, Imrahil, he is more precious to me than all the mithril of Moria, but the decision lies with him now and I will never force him into anything he does not want.'

'Good, good. That's as it should be. Well, I think I'll be off back to Dol Amroth for a while. Could do with a bit of sea air. Amlachil will enjoy taking my place on the council when it resumes, about time he learned to do some work. And the pup won't want his old uncle around breathing down his neck whilst his king tries to seduce him, will he?'

Aragorn thought that he would be quite as happy to be seduced as to be the seducer.

'Let me know if Amlachil causes any trouble. Always a problem, that one.'




It was in fact almost three weeks later that Imrahil had finally departed one fine morning as the sun rose. Amlachil had eagerly bid his father farewell, glad to be at last left alone to represent Dol Amroth at the White City, hurrying back to the Citadel to study a stack of parchments ready for the next council meeting.

'Too keen, that one. Always a problem' muttered the prince.

With all meetings cancelled and a general holiday declared, it was the first time Aragorn and Faramir had met since their parting embrace in the night. The steward had kept his own secret company and Aragorn had known that he must now wait, must not pursue or pressure Faramir. The days had seemed a lifetime. Aragorn had been unable to focus on anything he tried to do, had ridden his horse fast and far, had spent many hours at the fencing school practising his technique, had tried to read through dusty piles of neglected histories from the archives, had ended up smoking and drinking far too much, regretting it afterwards. Driven mad by the waiting, he knew only the image of Faramir and the desperate hope of his coming to him.

They had exchanged the normal chaste kiss of greeting, had held each other briefly as king and steward always did when they met, and rivers of fire had run through Aragorn's trembling body at their touch. Did Faramir feel the same? He dared not search his steward's eyes for an answer, scared of what he might see and equally of what he might not see, scared of throwing himself wantonly into his beloved's arms. Then he held Imrahil in an embrace of farewell, and once more whispered thanks for the prince's kindness and generosity of spirit.

'Pup's changed. Standing taller than he was. Glint in his eye again. You're good for him, my lad. Remember your promise - don't hurt him or I'll be down on you with all my warriors. And don't let him hurt you. He may be a grown man but there's something wild in him still.'

*Always a problem, that one. Too much elf in him* Aragorn added to himself.

Then Imrahil embraced and spoke to his nephew, mounted his great patient horse and rode slowly out towards the southern gate of the Pelennor. King and steward were left alone.

'You look tired, my liege.'

'Too much wine.'

'And pipeweed?'

Aragorn nodded ruefully. Faramir paused for a moment before continuing

'I had thought, as the wind is warm and the sun promises to be so kind, to ride out towards the river and find a place to swim. There is a certain secluded island... Perhaps such a venture might help clear my king's mind? Might ease his body?'

The last was added almost under Faramir's breath and Aragorn was unsure whether he had indeed caught the words or imagined them, yet found it hard not to let the overwhelming joy he felt from flooding his face.

'A most excellent suggestion which I shall be most glad to accept. My steward is ever attentive to my needs. Let us meet at the stables in, say, an hour?'

They had made their separate ways back to the Citadel and the early risers were astonished to see their king sprint past them grinning like a madman.




Faramir had guided them to a deep tributary of the Anduin and pointed out a verdant islet further downstream before urging his horse into the fast-flowing waters.

'We must start to cross from here. The current will push the horses towards the island. It's dangerous but don't worry, I've done it before many times. Let Fanuilos lead so that Roheryn will know to follow her.'

Aragorn trusted Faramir implicitly but even so was concerned at the depth and strength of the river. Roheryn appeared much more confident, watching and copying Fanuilos's crossing so that horses and riders came safely ashore upon the secret isle. The horses were quickly unsaddled, the damp saddle-blankets shaken and spread out to dry, then the beasts freed of their bridles and loosed to wander at will.

Aragorn looked in amazement at the place to which he had been brought. The curve of a little bay interrupted the current creating an ideal bathing spot, whilst inland a natural amphitheatre girdled by ancient mossy trees held a meadow of long soft grasses and sweet flowers. The warm air was full of birdsong, the bright flash of butterflies and the hum of contented insects.

'This is beautiful' he whispered 'I never knew it was here.'

'Few do, if any. The crossing is not possible if you don't know exactly where to start. I found it by accident years ago, trying to cross the river and getting caught in the current. I ended up here.'

Aragorn wanted this to be their own private paradise.

'Did you come here often with Boromir?'

Faramir smiled and shook his head.

'No, never. This was always my secret place. And now it is ours.'

'I am thankful that it was not here that you secreted yourself the other night, or I would never have found you.'

Faramir had a certain crooked smile that he used but rarely, yet now it flashed across his face.

'Did you not know that I *wanted* you to find me, Aragorn?'

Then he was tearing off his clothes as he stumbled back towards the river.

'Come on! We came here to swim! Come *on*!' and with a splash he was gone.

Aragorn undressed with more care, stretching his naked body in the healing sunlight, knowing that he need not rush.




It was only when they were lying damp and tired amongst the flowers that Aragorn was able to see properly the wonder of Faramir's nakedness. It was breathtaking. He felt as it he had been hit. Faramir was Aragorn's ideal of physical beauty. The curve of his long limbs, the smooth intersecting planes of his muscles, the soft hair darkened from the water and clinging to shimmering skin. Aragorn ached to touch him, to convince himself that Faramir was truly real. Every battle-scar was an adornment. Other marks, fresh marks, were upon that body also, the origins of which Aragorn did not know but could guess. He would not enquire of them yet. And the might that lay between Faramir's legs, for that he yearned with every fibre of his body.

'Often have I vowed that I would gladly renounce my kingdom just to lie naked next to you' he murmured.

The reclining god turned and smiled sweetly at him.

But first there were things he must tell Faramir, and Aragorn was afraid.

Should he have told before? But when? He was sure now that Faramir was ready, whether to take or be taken he was uncertain - it mattered not - but to have brought Aragorn here to this magical place, to be lying here naked with him, surely now Faramir felt ready to reciprocate his love. He sensed that Faramir had had to defeat many dragons in order to be able to accept this mutual love. It had been a difficult journey for him, but now he was so close. There was one more turning along the road, a last secret to be shared. If Aragorn did not speak now then it would be too late. He had to let Faramir know all he knew.

'Faramir, there is something that perhaps I should have told you long ago, or perhaps I should not have told you until now. I do not know. It is hard for me to say and will be hard for you to hear. Forgive me if I have done wrong.'

Faramir was concerned at Aragorn's anguish, sat up and placed a comforting hand upon his king's shoulder.

'What is it? Tell me.'

Aragorn drew a deep breath. Where to start?

'Long have I wished to tell you of Boromir's ending.'

Faramir did not move.

'He died in my arms, Faramir.'

'I know that.'

'Yes. But you do not know all. I have not told you of his last words.'

'He acknowledged you as his king. You shared that secret with me and I have told no other.'

There was puzzled emotion in Faramir's voice.

'Yes, yes he did.'

Aragorn signed before continuing

'But that was not the very last that he spoke. I have told no-one of his final words. They are for you alone. I'm sorry I could not tell them to you before. Faramir, he died with your name on his lips. There was no pain. The darkness had begun to take him and he did not know where he was. I kissed him on the brow, and he thought I was another, thought I was you. "Ah my beloved!" he said "Kiss me! Kiss my mouth!"

‘So I kissed him chastely, but he was not satisfied. "Little brother, my sweet dark lover, my secret torment, *kiss* me Fara, as you ever would when I took you!" He arched up to meet my lips and kissed me deeply, our tongues entwined. It was a kiss of passion such as I have never known before or since. He called your name once more and smiled as life left him.'

Faramir was weeping gently, yet a smile crept across his face. Now it was Aragorn's arm that sought to offer comfort.

'Thank you. Thank you for telling me. It was the right time to do so. Thank you for being there for him. For us. He is ever with me, you know, even now.'

'Faramir I know that I can never replace Boromir nor would I seek to do so. But my love for you runs deep and true. If you will accept me then I am gladly yours.'

'It does not dismay you, the love between brothers that should never be? We broke one of the great prohibitions of Gondor. And you are Gondor's king.'

'No, do not fear that I should regard your love for Boromir as abhorrent, for remember that I was raised not in Gondor but in Imladris where such shame is unknown. My own elven foster-brothers, Lord Elrond's sons, were my first lovers, not that Elrond or indeed Arwen ever knew of it. Since then I have lain with men and women and elves, yet it has always been for the touch of a man, for the strong bodies and passions of my fellow warriors, that my body has ached. And you are the greatest of my warriors.

'Like you, sweetest Faramir, it is with men that my desires are fully realised. Boromir was magnificent and I wanted him, but I did not then know that the brother of whom he ever spoke with joy was also his lover. When I learned that from his own lips, I felt instinctively that it was good and right. And when you first opened your eyes to me in the Houses of Healing, when I too saw what Boromir had so loved, then truly I understood his love and I loved you also. I have been in your thrall since that moment and my love has only grown.'

Faramir was quiet with thought for a moment.

'It is hard to love again, Aragorn, when I have loved so greatly. And to have loved my own kinflesh from childhood, nothing can be quite the same after that. Boromir was my entire world. He owned my heart, my soul and my body. We were two but we were one. When we lay together it was as if I was taking myself, being taken by myself, and he felt the same.'

Aragorn dropped his head in silent sorrow. Was this the rejection he had dreaded?

'And yet, that it is not the same means not that it is less, only different. And if a man can love his own brother, then surely he can also love his king. It has been a difficult journey for me to come to understand this, and I have faltered so very badly along the way, but I know now that it is right.'

'You are sure?'

Aragorn's voice trembled and there were tears in his eyes as he raised his head.

'Most sure, my liege.'

Faramir came close, his tongue licking away a falling tear before kissing Aragorn gently on the eyes.

'I love you Aragorn. Love you and want you and can foresee no end to my desire. I accept that now, as I accept also your love for me. You are my king and my friend, and now my lover. I am glad to give myself to you.'

Faramir's lips moved to his king's mouth, claiming it with slow intensity, pouring all his desire and devotion into the act, submitting, accepting, promising, taking. Every skill he knew with lips and tongue was called upon in that one kiss, and when they broke apart Aragorn was trembling and there were tears in his eyes.

'Thus it was that Boromir kissed me' he whispered in awe, before Faramir claimed his mouth again.


Still astonished that so much of what he so desired had truly come to pass, Aragorn sat holding his steward in his arms, gazing at him in awe.

'Faramir, you are wondrous to behold. Do you taste as delicious as you look?'

'I don't know. Why don't you find out?'

For a moment Aragorn could not move. This pause before he made love to Faramir for the first time was so sublime he wanted to make it last as long as he could. Then he leaned in closer. Faramir did not protest, allowing himself to be gently lowered onto his back as the king began to explore. Aragorn's mouth closed over each part of Faramir's body, his kisses barely breaths, his moist tongue but a whisper, his voice low and seductive, his fingers spinning fire over Faramir's skin.

The steward's eyes were closed and his breathing shallow as slowly, gently Aragorn's mouth moved down, his tongue tracing a silver trail over the firm belly, following the line of darkening hair until it met the musk of his steward's groin. Faramir's twisted hands tore up clumps of grass at the pleasure Aragorn was subjecting him to, his breaths now ragged and erratic.

'Your skin tastes divine, my love, but it is upon your seed that I would feast.'

The king's voice was a low hiss composed entirely of lust.

Faramir bucked and was enveloped by the hot wetness that so desired him. Slowly Aragorn took the full length, opening his throat, his lips tight around the shuddering girth, tongue stroking, caressing, urging Faramir to fill him. Firmly he pulled back so that only the very tip of the head was between his lips, tonguing the slit gently, before once more swallowing all he could take, fingers cupping Faramir's balls, kneading and pulling gently, then one saliva-dripping finger reaching to circle and press at the hidden opening between the strong buttocks, his other hand was working at his own cock.

Witnesing Faramir totally abandon himself to the pleasure he was being offered was the most enthrallingly sight Aragorn had ever beheld. The steward's body reacted to even the slightest flick of tongue or finger, jerking and shuddering, whilst long deep moans of wanton lust filled the warm air, hands wandering over his own torso, cruel fingers pinching and pulling at his own nipples.

Again and again Aragorn pulled back, holding the thick cock's throbbing swollen head gently between his teeth whilst he teased it with the softest touches of his tongue, only to lunge forward to take Faramir once more deep into his throat, with each lunge pushing his fingers further into that most secret of places, seeking out the spot that would bring the writhing man to his climax, probing and stroking until he knew the moment had come, knew that he too was on the brink of a spectacular orgasm.

Pulling back whilst his fingers pushed ever harder he whispered - 'Quench my thirst for you, my steward' - and once more took Faramir into his mouth to drink of the spurting seed, Aragorn moaning, filling his own hand as they came together.




'I am under the most strict instructions,' Aragorn murmured as Faramir slowly and softly covered his throat and chest with licks and kisses '*not* to break your heart. Not that I would, anyway.'

Faramir sat up, curious. For a moment all thoughts of further seduction were pushed aside. Both knew they had plenty of time.

'Whose instructions?'

'Imrahil's.'

'He *knows*?!'

'I think he knew what was happening before we did. Perhaps it is from his blood that you gain your ability to read your fellow men so well. Like him, you see much, store it up in that wise head of yours. I have his blessing, by the way.'

'Is that what he was saying to you before he left?'

'He confirmed it. We had already spoken. Today he said that I was good for you but warned me that you might be a dangerous lover. What did he say to you?'

'Something similar, although of course then I did not understand his meaning. He said you were always a problem...'

'Too much elf in him!'

Laughing, they chorused Imrahil's words together.

'I have had an elf in me.' Faramir grinned as he glanced sidelong to see what Aragorn's reaction might be.

'Of what do you speak? You have had an elven lover? Tell me!'

And so Faramir proceeded to tell of his mysterious encounters with the nameless elf. Unlike Boromir, who had been so aroused by the story, Aragorn was visibly shaken.

'This is a tale beyond reckoning! I do not dare to think who your lover may have been. Only the most ancient and noble of elven lords are so adorned!'

Aragorn's face was creased with thought.

'And yet, and yet it explains so many things...'

'What things?'

'You say that it felt as though both light and life were poured into you.'

'Indeed. What of it?'

'Faramir, there is a fay air about you that the thin elvish blood of your descent alone, even the blood of Dol Amroth, does not suffice to explain. I believe that your have been somehow enriched. Imrahil has seen it too. Both he and I have thought we have discerned a star upon your brow, sometimes in council meetings when your emotions run high... And, just now, when you filled my mouth so sweetly...' Aragorn bent to kiss his beloved gently 'again I saw a clear light shine forth.'

'I knew nothing of this!' Faramir was clearly as amazed as Aragorn himself. 'You said that many things were explained. Is there more?'

'I believe there is. When did this happen? How old were you when the elf took you?'

Faramir had to think hard for a while. So much had happened to him it was now difficult to calculate an exact date.

'I must have been, oh, not more than twenty-two or three. Why?'

'And how old are you now?'

'I near forty, as you well know. What is your meaning?'

'Nearly forty, and yet your body is as strong and supple, your skin as smooth, your beauty as intoxicating, as that of a man nearly half your age. Have you never wondered at this marvel?'

Faramir shook his head.

'I believed I was but lucky that the years had yet to take their toll.'

Aragorn held his hand as he continued to speak, words which fell from his lips almost as if he were in a trance-like state, full of magic and mystery.

'Beloved, your beauty ever astounds me as, I believe, it astounded the elven lord. I think he saw in you the lost loveliness of Valinor itself, was entranced by it and could not bear to let it diminish and be lost. He has given you great gifts. An elven star shines upon your brow and you are blessed by a beauty that fades but slowly if at all. My gratitude to your elf overwhelms me. As Dunedain we both have long years ahead of us, mine already outnumber yours greatly, yet I have no fear of seeing you fade before me. Ever you shall be beautiful, my Faramir, until you choose to exercise that grace which allows you to leave at your own will.'

Faramir shed silent tears of joy and awe at what had been granted to him.

'It is strange and sad, is it not' Aragorn's voice held both a laugh and a sigh 'That I have foresaken the love of an elf-maid become mortal and given myself instead to a mortal made elf?'

He sighed again, and kissed away Faramir's tears as he stroked the head of the man he adored.

'Then there is your great skill with the bow. Once I thought only an elf could aim so true, yet now I wonder.'

'No' Faramir laughed 'That was ever the case. I'm naturally gifted!'

'The arrow you aimed at my heart has indeed found its mark, my beloved. But to continue, I think your tale of the elf also explains Boromir's intense interest in Legolas, for I presume you told him of your strange meetings.'

Faramir gasped. 'He wanted to know whether Prince Legolas was also bejewelled!'

Aragorn nodded, smiling.

'Did he ever find out?'

'No, though I could have assured him that Legolas is not so adorned.'

'You know this from experience?'

'Legolas and I have travelled many roads together. Sometimes lonely roads where we have taken comfort in each others bodies.'

'He is most beautiful and I am envious of your having him. Was he your lover during the quest?'

*One of them* thought Aragorn to himself. He still had not told Faramir all that he should, and now the moment had passed.

'Legolas and I did indeed become lovers once more. His sweet body has long been a temptation to me and perhaps will be again. And if you wish it, you may once more know the pleasures of an elf. I know that Legolas later regretted not having responded to Boromir's advances, but when he beheld his brother he became driven by a new lust. Legolas will, I know, submit to you most willingly should you desire it.'

Aragorn sucked slowly on Faramir's lower lip.

'And I shall enjoy watching you take him, my beloved, if I can restrain myself from joining with your coupling.'

Lying face to face the two men ground their erections into each other, using their legs to hook themselves closer, their mouths ravaging whatever skin could be found until they cried out together at the force of their release, stomachs and thighs covered in a thick slick of semen which could only be licked clean.




They were quiet and still for a while in the midday heat, contemplating what they now knew. Faramir gazed at the sky, watched the clouds, saw in them faces and figures of elves and men, lost in deepest thought. Aragorn rose and walked to where their gear was spread, rescuing something from a saddle-bag, returning to kneel beside his recumbant lover.

'Boromir once told me you gave him a star for his birthday. I did not know of what he spoke. But afterwards, when I sorted through his belongings, I found this and I understood. And now I understand even more. It belongs to you.'

Aragorn offered something like fire, like ice, something golden and silver. Faramir sat up and took the flask with reverence.

'It wasn't really his birthday present. Nor was the oil it contained...' he smiled crookedly. 'I was.'

Aragorn enfolded his steward into his arms, holding him tight and rocking him gently.

'A sweeter gift no brother could surely have wished for. How old were you?'

'He was twenty-two, I was seventeen. We wanted each other so badly.'

'So old! You were a full-grown man! I am astonished that Boromir did not take you sooner, truly you must have been temptation. I would have had to breach your tight innocent arse years before had I been in his place! Ah but then Gondor is not Imladris, is it?'

Faramir shrugged at the memory of how much he had wanted his brother, how he had first lain with Boromir.

'He had been away for many months. I had become a man in his absence. Though we had never spoken of it we had both wanted to give ourselves to each other whilst I was still a child, but I knew Boromir too well, knew that he would be brutal and that as a child I would have been broken by what he had to give. I think he would have killed me, he loved me so much. Loves me so much still.'

'Imrahil said that there was violence in your love.'

Aragorn felt Faramir stiffen slightly in his arms.

'Boromir, I...we were...we were extreme. We rejoiced in each other's pain. You do not know the brutality within me.'

'Worry not. No man lacks a violent side. I would know yours when the time comes. As you shall know mine. Pain can bring the sweetest pleasure.'

Aragorn gently 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. What happened, my love?'

Faramir took a deep breath before he embarked upon the explanation he had so dreaded.




The heat of the day, the wine they had brought with them, the growing familiarity of each other's bodies, the exploration and fulfilment of mutual desires, all had combined to make the lovers languid. Both wanted to prolong as long as possible the crescendo of the day until it exploded in an ultimate consummation. 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.

A gentle nicker from one of the horses reminded Faramir that he had brought some withered apples for their mounts. Aragorn lay watching him as the steward went to the horses, fed and petted them. Glorious was Faramir's nakedness next to that of the muscled animals and Aragorn was moved by the sight.

'You remind me of one of the great tawny cats of the south. You have such confidence in your body, the way you move is sensuous and feline, full of grace and pride.'

'You have seen such a great cat? I have only read of them.'

'I saw one once, long years ago, in Harad. It was caged and piteous, yet still it held great nobility in its sorrow. I would have freed it if I could, though I believe it would have killed me had I tried. You are my great cat, beloved, but I promise that I shall never subject you to any cage. You are the king's steward, his greatest friend and now his lover, but your will is ever your own.'

'The only cage I desire is that of your love and your need, Aragorn. To that I would be subject all my days.'




Aragorn had been wondering for some time which of them would be the first to take the other as only a man can do. Now he knew what he wanted, that he was ready to take the next step.

'Faramir, 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.'

He moved closer, nestling against the warm sun-kissed body he so desired, hands working across Faramir's opalescent skin, lips nuzzling and teasing mouth and cheek and ear. Faramir groaned his pleasure in response.

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

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

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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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