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In His Gardens (NC-17) Print

Written by Nissi

14 November 2006 | 5431 words

[ all pages ]

Pairing: Boromir/Faramir, Faramir/Legolas (mentioned)
Summary: Follows The Secret Widower and Unexpected Blessings. This is a small vignette occurring after the return of Faramir and Legolas from Rohan. A troubled Boromir seeks solace in his brother, sending them on a journey to peace and pleasure. Quite a bit of romantic ramblings, drama (mayhap even melodrama!), explicit sexual content, and angst.
Feedback: nissi@hushmail.com
Disclaimer: Any references to works of Tolkien are property of the Tolkien estate and New Line Cinema. This work is not for profit.

— Follows from Unexpected Blessings


Chapter 1: The Weight of Things

The warrior sat upon the ground in the dark, musty tomb, his usually tall and proud form crumpled dejectedly. He leaned upon his mother’s grave as if letting her support him in a way she had not since he was a child.

The young captain strode into the tombs confidently, knowing that his secret lover waited there. It was one of their usual meeting places—not because they enjoyed the ambience—but because their love was a forbidden love. There were few areas of the White City where they could freely express themselves as husbands. The dead would not tell their secrets.

He immediately worried when he saw his brother’s figure slumped upon the floor. “Boromir?” he asked quietly, even the smallest of voices echoing grandly through the hall. “Are you well?” He stepped closer, placing his hand lovingly upon Boromir’s shoulder.

“I am well,” came Boromir’s unconvincing reply. He straightened his posture to emphasize the point.

“What ails you, brother of mine?” Faramir asked tenderly, kneeling beside his love. “You are clearly troubled.”

Boromir shook his head slowly. He was reluctant to open the flood gates even for his lover, whom he trusted as he trusted no other. But he did not want to express his feelings. They were overtaking him, and he was not accustomed to being unable to control himself. The last time he felt so swept away by his emotions was when he admitted the fullness of his love to Faramir.

“Please tell me. It pains me to think you are suffering and will not let me aide you,” Faramir said sweetly, pressing his lips to Boromir’s temple.

“It is nothing particular, my love. It is…everything,” Boromir waved his hand, his voice quivering. “You are my only respite, my only solace. But our times together grow fewer and fewer, as I am given more and more responsibility in the field.”

“All the more reason to make the most of what time we do have, Boromir. I do not believe that these days will last. I do not believe our lives will be filled with constant conflict and loss. The darkness will pass, my husband,” Faramir tried to console him.

“Meanwhile I am failing our people. I am failing our father,” Boromir nearly sobbed, his exhaustion and frustration giving rise to self-pity.

“You are doing nothing of the sort. You are trying your best, leading your men as well as you can. You are only one man, Boromir. You cannot carry the whole of Gondor on your shoulders,” Faramir explained, draping his arm across Boromir’s back.

“Father believes I can,” Boromir replied with more than a little bitterness.

“Father has taken leave of his senses,” Faramir declared. “Please do not judge yourself by his standards. Boromir,” Faramir turned his brother to face him. “I have judged myself thusly all of my life. It is torture. It is madness.”

Boromir sighed deeply. “Father is not yet as mad as you say, Faramir, but I feel as though if I fail to keep Gondor safe then he will lose his grasp. He places so much faith in me.”

“I have faith in you too, love. But I also see that you are fallible—and…” Faramir lifted Boromir’s chin and gazed into his brother’s green eyes, darkened with turmoil. “…I love your fallibility. I love who you are, Boromir. I do not love you only for what I think you can accomplish. Father’s affection has become too narrow in focus. Do not let it drive you to distraction,” the younger man concluded.

Boromir nodded slowly. “Thank you, Faramir. As always you are my rock. I will try not to judge myself so harshly. But it is not easy—we are nearly overwhelmed. Mordor’s power grows by the day, and I cannot long deflect the darkness. Osgiliath has nearly fallen!”

Faramir smiled softly. “Keeping the shadow at bay is a difficulty we all face. But try we must. That is all anyone asks of you, Boromir. You are already fulfilling your duty.”

“Father plans to deploy you to Osgiliath. He wishes you to maintain our presence there—to fight to hold the river,” Boromir said quietly. “It is perilous on the river, Faramir. I worry…”

“I am well accustomed to battle now, my love, as much as I dislike it. Please do not have undue concern,” Faramir responded.

“You once said that if we should find ourselves fighting among the ruins of that once-great city then I could coddle you. I fully intend for you to make good on your promise,” Boromir managed a small grin.

“Fair enough, brother,” Faramir patted Boromir’s back. “I will endure your fretting as you endured mine,” he added good-naturedly. He lifted his index finger to lightly brush up and down Boromir’s cheek. “We are war-wearied,” he mused. “So much we carry…” He traced the line of the symmetrical vertical creases on either side of Boromir’s brow—a feature that his husband had only recently gained.

“You were right, Faramir. Someday we will live in peace. There must be hope,” Boromir smiled gently.

Faramir nodded swiftly. He glanced up at the carved stone image of his long-dead mother. “Mother would have been proud of you,” Faramir whispered reverently. “She would have understood.”

“There is much of her in you, my husband, my love,” Boromir replied thoughtfully. “I love you more than words can tell.”

“As I love you, Boromir,” Faramir smiled brightly.

Boromir brought his brother’s hand to his lips and kissed the back tenderly. “Let us leave here. It is too somber—there must be another private place where we may enjoy each other’s company.”

Faramir tilted his head thoughtfully. “My garden. It is all but abandoned this time of night. And given the chill in the air, I would wager all of Minas Tirith is indoors basking in firelight. We can fetch a blanket from my chamber along the way.”

“Will you show me the stars again, little one—like you did when we were wed?” Boromir asked hopefully.

“It would be my pleasure,” Faramir replied as he stood and offered Boromir his hand.

“It will not be the only pleasure you have this night,” Boromir said in a hushed, desirous voice.

Faramir shivered at the prospects as he walked with his glorious brother out of the tombs and into the fresh, crisp air of the late autumn night.

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The following people read the story, enjoyed it, and would like to thank the author: Maeve , Ellsy

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About the Author


Nissi

For more of her work, see Mirrormere

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