Home » Fiction

Warning

This story is rated «NC-17», and carries the warnings «Rape, incest».
Since you have switched on the adult content filter, this story is hidden. To read this story, you have to switch off the adult content filter. [what's this?]

Remember that whether you have the adult content filter switched on or off, this is always an adults only site.

Legacy (NC-17) Print

Written by Carla Jane

30 March 2004 | 95430 words

[ all pages ]

Éowyn sat cross-legged on Éomer’s bed, watching her brother strip out of his elaborate court gear. “Faramir has put a lock on the library door so I can’t get into the mirror room,” she announced in a pouting tone. “He’s barred me from the Tower archives, as well. The scholars down there told me they were under orders to call the guard if I wouldn’t leave.”

“And what does it say about how far Faramir can trust you, if you already know those things?” Éomer tossed his clothes on to a chair.

“It’s not fair,” Éowyn complained. She realized she sounded like a petulant child, but she couldn’t help her contain the whine that crept into her voice. “I only made a single, trifling mistake, and in the end everything has worked out all right… all of it in his favour too. I thought better of Faramir. I thought he loved me.”

“You tried to kill the one person he loves best in the entire world, Éowyn.” His expression was tight but he didn’t sound angry, merely weary. “I know that if someone had done to you… what you meant to do to Boromir… I would have torn them limb from limb and thrown the scraps into the animal pens.” Kneeling on the edge of the bed, clad only in thin leggings, Éomer was a striking vision. “Give him a little time and Faramir might lessen the restrictions on you, Éowyn. Give him a little time to get past the betrayal and realize that it all worked out for the best.”

“All sorts of people kept asking me why I wasn’t in the procession,” she shifted the topic only slightly. “I’m sure they knew. They were just being nasty. Gloating over me, mocking me.” Éowyn sneered. “I pretended I hadn’t gone because I was feeling poorly before the procession left the Tower. If Faramir isn’t going to come out and announce what he’s done to me… well, I’m not about to make it any easier for him to just deny me into oblivion.” The White Tower had been empty for hours, a situation Éowyn had attempted to use to her advantage without success. It seemed everyone had heard rumours of her disinheritance even though it hadn’t been officially announced. Most of her old allies had distanced themselves while they waited to see what would happen.

“The coronation was uneventful and the party was horrendous,” Éomer consoled. “We can leave for the Riddermark in just a few days. Once we’re gone, we can put everything here behind us. Faramir is giving me full control of the Riddermark. He promised that he’ll see to severing it from Gondor completely later on. We’re just waiting on the clerks to finish writing up the papers that name me the ruler of that part of the empire. I’ll need legal proclamations of my power so none of the idiots there will dispute my authority.” Climbing the rest of the way onto the bed, Éomer stretched out and urged his sister to lie down beside him. “We’re going home, Éowyn. It’s what we always wanted. None of the rest matters.”

She was stiff and unyielding in his arms. Éomer was treating her like a child, something he hadn’t done in years. It infuriated Éowyn, provoking her into lashing out at him. “And are you bringing a wife with you or are you waiting to pick one out when we get to Edoras?”

“Éowyn…”

“I’m told that the young lord of Dol Amroth is insistent that either you or Faramir should make a bride of his sister, Lothiriel,” she stated coolly. “The council agrees. They want the remaining prince to marry one of the Harondorian girls in hopes it will improve Gondor’s relations with the south.” Éowyn laughed bitterly as she shared the information that skulking behind draperies had earned her. “I may not have been welcome downstairs, but I still managed to hear things.”

“Éowyn…”

“Not that Faramir cares which of those silly girls you take and which he gets. He can’t see past bedding Boromir.” She pushed up onto one elbow, frowning at her brother. “They’re up there right now. I just know it. Faramir is accusing me of acting like Denethor, using that argument as justification to ruin me, but he’s the one acting like father. He’s obsessing over Boromir, disregarding everything for his turn to plough into Boromir’s well-used arse.”

EOWYN! That’s enough!” Éomer pushed at her supporting elbow, knocking her down to the mattress. Rolling, he pinned his sister beneath his body. “You have to let it go, my love, or it will consume you from the inside out. We’ve got each other. We’ve got the Riddermark back. Nothing else matters.”

Gentle fingers threaded through Éomer’s long, softly falling hair. “But Faramir was supposed to be our’s too. I can see every detail of it in my head. The way it would have felt when he parted my legs and took my virginity. The look on Faramir’s face when he felt your fingers pushing into him, warning him that you would have him, even as he took me. The groan you wouldn’t be able to contain as you shoved ‘this’ inside our sweet, Faramir’s body.” Éowyn reached down and cupped the front of Éomer’s leggings.

The action earned a moan from Éomer. “Tease!” He moved quickly, grabbing after the hem of Éowyn’s nightshirt and shoving it up to bare her to the waist. “You tease me… taunt me at every turn.” Éomer buried his face in the curve of her throat, licking the hollow. His fingers curled, dipping between folds of down-covered skin to just barely graze Éowyn’s core. “Éowyn!” He gasped, rubbing his crotch against her leg, held away by only a thin layer of cloth.

“I know what you want, love,” Éowyn whispered seductively. “You want to pull off your pants and feel me, skin to skin. You want inside me so badly that it feels like dying.”

“Éowyn, please. I love you. I love you so much. Please.” Breath catching, he whimpered against her throat. “I’ll be careful. You’ll like it. Please, love.” Her one leg was teasing behind him and the heat between them burned higher.

“You want me the same way Faramir is likely having at his whore of a brother right now. Could you even last that long, my love? Or would it spill all over my thighs at the first touch?” Éowyn wriggled underneath Éomer, parting her legs wider in appreciation of the feelings that Éomer’s tickling fingers were provoking.

“Please, love. There’s no reason to wait any more. Please, Éowyn.”

Éowyn shivered. “It’s not like I can be disgraced any more than I am now, is it? It’s not like having a baby and being unable to name the father could make things worse.” Her hands skimmed up and over Éomer’s back, then down again. “Yes, fine. Take me, Éomer.” Éowyn plucked at his waistband. “Get these off. Take them down, love, and make a woman of me.”

Just hearing the words proved too much for Éomer. He shuddered, grabbing tightly, and spent himself against Éowyn’s leg.

Éomer cursed between panting breaths. “I’m sorry, Éowyn. I’m sorry.”

“Hush, love. It’s all right.” Curling, she managed to kiss his tangled hair. “We’ve time.” Legs spreading wantonly, Éowyn pushed down on his shoulders and head. “I’m burning up, love. Will you do that thing… with your tongue, before the back of my head explodes? Fix it, Éomer. Lick me down there, please… then we can try again.” She twisted underneath him, her hips shifting in invitation. “You can get hard again. I know you can.”

“I can. I will.”

Éowyn felt him nodding against skin as Éomer worked his way down her body. The material of her thin, sweaty, nightgown was torn open to bare her entirely. A hand cupped each of her small breasts and Éomer’s mouth latched onto the nipple, sucking hard. Squeezing her eyes shut and letting her thinking-mind fade away, Éowyn was almost able to imagine it wasn’t just Éomer, but two eager men sharing her between them, and that would have to suffice for now.


Boromir awoke knowing that he was being studied. Faramir’s gaze had weight to it. He could feel it like the sun shining on his skin.

“Don’t wake up yet,” Faramir requested in a faint whisper. “It’s not over until you wake up.” Fingertips trailed across Boromir’s closed eyes before sweeping over every feature. “I just need time to save this. I never want to forget.” Faramir’s lips brushed Boromir’s left shoulder before drifting lower. “Last night was extraordinary, but I need this too. I need to be able to picture you sleeping next to me.”

It was a simple request to indulge. Boromir let himself drift a while longer, happy enough to delay leaving the comfort of Faramir’s company to face all the tasks waiting on them. He hadn’t felt this completely comfortable since Aragorn had admitted to the two year gap in time.

“Aragorn!” Boromir sat up abruptly, nearly knocking his brother over with the sudden movement.

“Soon,” Faramir soothed. “Perhaps after Éomer is gone…” Unspoken was the fact that Éowyn would be leaving with her full-brother. “I’m uncertain if he should be here, if he should be privy to the ritual or if I should wait until he has left for Edoras.”

“That will be days,” Boromir objected. “Maybe weeks if something were to go wrong. Months even… if Elphir has his way and Éomer agrees to marry Lothiriel. Elphir will want to attend the wedding, and then he’ll need to see to her happiness before they all leave.” His head shook. “We can’t make Aragorn wait that long, especially without explaining why. He’s likely already worried.”

Faramir picked at the hem of the sheet he was tangled in. “There’s just some things I have to check in the book. There’s something he mentioned in passing that I need to confirm.”

“You can ask him about it after you call him,” Boromir reasoned. “It has to be you, Faramir. You and Éomer are the only ones who can right now. It’s not like I can go and find him either… he could be anywhere.” A hint of darkness shadowed Boromir’s eyes. “You are going to call him, Faramir, aren’t you? You promised.”

“I will…” Faramir confirmed in a low tone.

Shrugging free of the covers that were dragging at him, Boromir crawled around to sit tight against Faramir, wrapping his arms around him. “It’s not like Aragorn will change what’s here between us, Faramir. You have been the dearest thing in my heart from the moment the midwife set you in my arms.” His chin rested on Faramir’s shoulder. “I understood that as long as you don’t dismiss him after you call him, then we can all be together. Isn’t that what was decided on… that you’ll grant him leave to stay in Gondor with us?” Boromir had been less than attentive while Aragorn had spoken to Faramir of rules and terms of service. His own thoughts at that time had been muddled by the realization that Aragorn had deceived him. Boromir’s anger had taken several hours to ease and he had missed a lot of information that now concerned him. “Tell me, Faramir.”

“I’m supposed to summon Aragorn,” Faramir began. He leaned into the offered embrace, raising one hand to reach back and cup Boromir’s cheek. “Once he’s here I’m to grant him free access to all of Gondor for the extent of my lifetime… even when he’s not on business for me.”

Boromir kissed at the curve of Faramir’s ear. “You’re thinking of changing the deal, aren’t you?” The question was cautious. “It wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be like you to cheat, Faramir. You’re better than that.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking.” Fingers tightened in Boromir’s hair. “He mentioned something. I want to check that book he told me about… to get the details of it.”

“What ‘something’?” Boromir persisted.

Faramir didn’t answer. Instead he twisted, turning around in Boromir’s arms until they were face to face. “Do you love him, Boromir?” Blue eyes locked to green. “Is he the one you want to spend the rest of your life with?”

Boromir stared right back. “I won’t forsake you for him. You don’t need to worry about that, Faramir. I won’t forget Gondor or my duties.” He paused. “But yes… I need Aragorn.”

“Is it the magic?” Faramir pressed. “What if he was just an ordinary man?”

“Make yourself plain, Faramir. Your leaps of imagination have always dizzied me and I’m not up to the game right now.”

Frowning, Faramir spoke slowly. “I can call him, give him the freedom of Gondor and dare the dangerous path that father and Éowyn failed to resist… the lure of using him too often. It would be all too easy to succumb, with Aragorn so near at hand and so powerful.” Fingers petted restlessly at Boromir’s bare arms. “That terrifies me on every level… that I might become like father, that I might rely on Aragorn’s power instead of myself… and also…” His voice faltered. “… that I would have to compete for your affections with a creature I can’t hope to match.”

“It’s not a competition, little one. I will always love you.”

Pushing on, Faramir rushed out the next sentence. “Or I could give you an ordinary man,” he offered. “Just now, just at the beginning I have the option of freeing Aragorn. I can dissolve the bindings that hold him to the throne of Gondor. It will make him mortal, Boromir, and it will strip him of his magic.”

Boromir tensed. “Will it hurt him? Will he still be Aragorn… or will he become Isildur once again? Will he die?”

“All of us are going to die eventually,” Faramir reasoned. “He’ll age, just like us and someday he will die, just like us. As for the rest… I think he will remain Aragorn, but I want to check the histories and see what they say.” His thumb rubbed at Boromir’s wrist. “Would you still want him if that were the way of things… if he were mortal and his powers were gone?”

“I wouldn’t dare to make a choice like that on Aragorn’s behalf. You should ask him.”

“I’m not asking you to choose the path before me. What I need to know is if it’s the demon of Gondor… or simply Aragorn… that you love?” Faramir pressed.

The taste of blood lingered in Boromir’s thoughts, suggesting that his next words might be a lie, but he spoke them anyway. “It’s Aragorn. Give HIM the choice, but I want him no matter which he chooses.”

Faramir’s head shook. “No. This choice is mine, Boromir. I dare not risk the temptation that he represents. I will give you a man, not a demon.” Faramir’s hand encircled his brother’s wrist. “I am the king. This is my choice.”

“But he might not want that. How can you excuse this injustice?”

“I can not allow myself to be persuaded by another in this matter. Will you argue my decision? Do you choose to argue with the king?”

“I am allowed to argue with my brother.” Boromir’s temper was rising.

Faramir sighed. “So now is the time for your choice, Boromir.” His entire body tensed up. “Which am I first… your king, or your little brother? You have to decide. Will you and your lover stay and serve Gondor, or will you take him and leave now that you realize how it has to be?”

“I swore allegiance to you yesterday,” Boromir began. “Everyone did, but it was mere ceremony to most of them. You must realize that. You’ll have to win them all over, one at a time. It might take years.” He frowned. “But never doubt me, my king. I meant every word I spoke while kneeling at your feet.”

“And if Aragorn is angry at the return of his mortality and tells you to choose between him and your oath?”

“You’re borrowing trouble again, Faramir. You’re over- thinking what ‘may be’… as has always been your habit. Do what you have to.” Boromir leaned in to touch their foreheads together. “I would not survive seeing you turn into father. If removing the temptation that Aragorn’s powers represent protects you from that fate… then you must do it for the good of the entire empire.”

Faramir practically melted into Boromir’s arms. “I’ll call him tomorrow, I promise. Just give me this one day. There are a few things dragging at me. I have to make certain of what I’m doing about the release. I need to straighten things out with Éomer. I’m under an obligation to propose a marriage as well.” He held tight. “I just want to know I have one more night with you at the end of this hateful day… then I’ll call him in the morning. I promise.”

Squeezing Faramir close, Boromir nodded. “One more night.”


The woman tucked under the furs in the corner of the hut was typical of the local stock. She was dark-eyed, dark- haired and leanly muscled. If Aragorn couldn’t have what he wanted, he wanted to avoid any possible reminder of his grievous loss. He had squeezed soft breasts while burying both his teeth and his erection into the woman below him, hoping it would dull the ache inside of him.

Leaving her to sleep and recover, and needing to be gone before her sons returned from the hunt, Aragorn slipped out into the gathering twilight. Another long night was upon him and Aragorn was unsure how to spend the time now he’d slaked his hunger. Perhaps it was time to set up a new home. That would distract him for several days. He didn’t wish to go back to Barad-dur, not in this generation. Setting up a small cottage deep in the forest of Mirkwood with a few new hobbits, girls this time, might work as a diversion.

Aragorn was just turning to explore the depths of that tangled woodland when a strong tug at his innards turned him another way completely. Without even properly realizing that he had changed direction, Aragorn’s next step deposited him in absolute centre of the White Tower’s primary training ring.

Faramir closed the heavy book he held with a forceful thud and dropped the volume into the sandy dirt at his feet. The noise was clearly intended to catch and hold Aragorn’s attention, perhaps to keep him from immediately going on the offensive. Alone, the odd action would have meant nothing but Aragorn couldn’t help but find the company Faramir was keeping disconcerting. Boromir, he had expected, but seeing Éomer and Minas Tirith’s senior arms master, Melador, in attendance… all three of whom were suited up in full gear, was more than a little disturbing.

“Do it quickly,” Boromir’s whispered urging sounded sorrowful.

“I, Faramir, son of Denethor, king of Gondor have summoned you, Aragorn, vessel of Isildur, slave of Gondor.”

“What are you playing at, child?” Aragorn snapped.

“By the power granted to me as scion of the line of Hurin… I release you from your service to the throne of Gondor forever. Take your mortality back, Aragorn son of Arathorn, and be free.”

Aragorn opened his mouth to snarl at the presumptuous boy, but all the air in his chest vanished. Aragorn tried to extend his senses and peruse Faramir’s mind to discover what sort of foolishness he was up to, but a strange sense of vertigo seized him. Through the haze that was fast overtaking Aragorn’s senses he saw Boromir start to step forward only to have his path blocked by Faramir’s gauntlet encased arm.

YOU SAID IT WOULDN’T HURT HIM!” The scream seemed impossibly far away.

“I said it wouldn’t kill him.” Faramir’s counter-argument was even harder to hear. “I don’t know everything that’s going to happen. That’s why Éomer and Melador are here.”

Aragorn had numerous vague memories of vomiting from the mortal lifetimes of his many bodies, but none of those distant recollections compared to what was happening to him now. His body felt like it was trying to turn itself inside out and tear out of his mouth, from his toes upward. There was a sharp pain radiating from his knees, where they had hit the gravel and his body felt as if it suddenly weighted five times as much as it had just moments ago.

“He’s going to be sick, I expect.” The voice was unfamiliar. “Shall I fetch him some water?”

“Keep back from him!” Faramir snapped. “The book couldn’t tell me everything. It just hinted. They were just guesses.”

“NO! Something’s wrong! ARAGORN!”

Boromir sounded genuinely worried, Aragorn realized in the smallest part of his mind that was still functioning. There was a muffled thud and the spray of disarranged sand and gravel. Aragorn quite wanted to look over and see who had managed to tackle Boromir down, but the next moment was complete chaos as Aragorn’s body went into convulsions. Every bit of life-force that he had absorbed over an entire age tore out of him at the exact same moment. Pure light ripped up from inside him and sprayed into the sky. Pieces of past kings and their heirs, both big and small, and every soul from Isildur to Argonui, who’s bodies had played host to the demon of Gondor, all ruptured out of Aragorn’s body in the same instant and whirled about in a storm that would have put a tornado to shame.

“Éowyn!” Éomer’s tone was strained, but reverent.

“Father,” Boromir’s exclamation was punctuated by a pained gasp.

Collapsing into the dirt, Aragorn, who had been able to alter the very fabric of the world a few moment ago, couldn’t even summon the strength to roll over so the gravel wasn’t cutting into his cheek. The darkness behind his eyes was overwhelming and Aragorn couldn’t recall ever having been so weary, even back when he had been a mere mortal. He actually wanted to sleep.

“Let me go!” More scuffling in the dirt preceded the crunch of gravel as someone approached.

“Be careful!”

“He’s hurt. He may be dying. You were wrong. You’ve killed him!”

“Boromir, you’re bleeding. Let me help.”

The voices cut like knives, stabbing into Aragorn’s skull. He was lifted and turned, gently enough, but it still made him moan with agony. Steel slid out of a scabbard not too very far away.

“I’ve got his back your majesty.”

Painful hot fingers ran over Aragorn’s face and he was pulled tight against silk and chain mail. “I’m sorry, Aragorn. I’m so sorry.”

“Is he breathing?”

Damn them, but couldn’t they all be silent and let him die in peace, Aragorn thought.

“He’s cold. Cold as a corpse.” The arms holding him squeezed tighter.

“Melador! Fetch a litter and some bearers. Éomer, fetch a healer.” Faramir snapped out from close at hand. “I’m sorry. I’ll fix this, Boromir. We won’t lose him.”

Unwilling to listen to any more, Aragorn let the darkness of sleep take him for the first time since he’d lost his soul to the demon.


Boromir lay on the bed beside Aragorn’s still form. Fingers brushed dark hair back from Aragorn’s forehead in a restless motion. It was strange. Boromir had never been awake beside his sleeping lover. He wasn’t even certain that Aragorn ever slept before this.

“I wish you would let the healers take a look at you too,” Faramir said softly from his place at the foot of the bed. “I saw that… thing… blow through you.” His expression was anxious. He paced closer to the head of the bed. “It looked like it hurt. It gave you a nose bleed.” The misty form had blasted Boromir flat to the ground when it hit him.

Boromir and Éomer had been the only ones touched by the power that had rushed out of Aragorn but it had affected them both in very different ways. Soft wind had curled around Éomer, lifting his hair and turning him slightly in place. The force that had knocked Boromir down had been considerably more violent.

“It was nothing,” Boromir’s tone was dismissive. His head didn’t lift, since he was concentrating on Aragorn’s still face. “For just a moment I could have sworn that father was there, that he was touching me, holding me down. It startled me, that’s all.”

There was an edge of a lie to the words, but Faramir let it slip past. “Near as I can tell… as I can guess…” Faramir corrected himself. “It was the portions of the souls that Isildur’s vessels had absorbed since his creation. I think those fragments hurled out… trying to find and rejoin with their original selves, maybe not realizing how much time had passed. Éomer sent word that something knocked Éowyn across the room and into a wall. She’s feverish and talking in her sleep right now.” Faramir frowned, not really wanting to discuss their half-sister, but needing to use her as an example. “I can only hope that the rest of the spirits found their way. I wonder if, where-ever he is… if father has finally realized what he did was wrong… and if he’s finally sorry.”

“I doubt it. He didn’t feel sorry,” he mumbled. Boromir didn’t look up. His entire concentration remained on Aragorn. “I’m afraid, Faramir.” Fingers caressed cool skin. “What if it all left? What if what makes him Aragorn has flown away too and gotten lost? What if there’s nothing left inside him now? He’s so still.”

“He’s breathing. His heart is beating,” Faramir repeated what the healers had told them earlier. “Give it time. He’s just suffered a distressing upset. Maybe it’s just taking a little time. He may still recover himself.” Moving tentatively, Faramir risked running a hand down Boromir’s shoulder, offering comfort. “I’m sorry. I wish it could’ve been different. I wish I had dared to leave him intact, but I’m afraid it would have been too tempting to use him. I didn’t have the courage.”

“We’ve done this, Faramir. I told you I understood. I’m just… our last parting was strained, then we made him wait so long, then we cornered him and he looked so… betrayed. He might die, not realizing what he means to me.”

Sighing, Faramir drew back. “Why don’t you strip out of your gear and lay down with him, Boromir. There’s a soldier just outside. You can call him if you need anything.” They were in the heir’s suite, which Faramir had insisted Boromir re-inhabit. “I should… I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

Weary green eyes finally lifted enough to look at Faramir’s face. “You could stay,” Boromir suggested as he sat up. “If you want to.”

Faramir’s gut tightened. “Are you sure? This is all my fault. I know you’re angry at me.”

Head shaking, Boromir rose wearily to his feet and plucked open the clasps that allowed his leather surcoat to be shrugged off. “I’m not angry at you, Faramir. Your reasons were sound.” Handfuls of silk were grabbed and Boromir yanked his shirt off over his head rather than struggle with it, throwing it over to land in a pile with his gloves, weapons, and armour. “Just when I thought I could have everything… I should have known better. I got greedy.” He listed slightly, threatening to fall, when he bent to work at his tall boots.

“Sit down.” Faramir knelt down to deal with the tight, heavy-weight leather. “He’ll come back to you. I know he will. I saw. He loves you. He’ll do everything to come back to you, to be with you. You inspire that in people, Boromir. The better someone knows you, the more essential you become to them. I know that.” Faramir urged his brother to stand briefly so he could finish stripping him down. Grabbing a side of the covers, Faramir held them back. “Get in. Hold him tight. He’ll come back for you if it’s at all possible. I just know it.” Turning away to get out of his own gear, Faramir mumbled, “I would.”

Stopping at his leggings, Faramir stood a moment, uncertain what to do next. Huffing out a long breath, he finally walked around to the far side of the wide bed and crawled in on the other side of Aragorn’s body. “Talk to me, Boromir. Tell me everything you remember of the time you spent with him.” Faramir didn’t really want to hear about any of it, but those tales were the most likely lure he could think of, and sharing the remembrances would soothe Boromir.

“Only if you come closer,” Boromir bargained. He snuggled himself up to Aragorn’s left side and reached across after Faramir’s hand.

The first contact made Faramir shiver. Aragorn’s cool form was a shock against the length of his own body, but Boromir’s fingers were warm. “I’m here.” Arranging himself, Faramir hooked a leg over so his toes touched his brother’s.

A long pause preceded Boromir’s first words, as if he was deciding on a safe place to begin. “I saw Imladris. Aragorn took me there. It was cold and snowy, but beautiful.”


Aragorn became aware of heat before anything else. Warm flesh surrounded him. Soft hair tickled his nose. Arms were wrapped around Aragorn’s body from both directions and so were legs. Moist breath was gusting against one of Aragorn’s ears on the left, while on his right he could feel the steady, gentle rise and fall of a chest against his ribs.

Opening his eyes lazily, Aragorn tried to discern his situation without betraying his awareness. The room was one he’d never seen before. It was dimly illuminated by a night-lamp and a gutting fire. The room seemed rich enough. The bedspread was an expensive-looking crimson and gold and an array of exotic weapons glinted in the low light, decorated the walls. White stone gleamed dully between tapestries and draperies, suggesting he was in the Tower of Ecthelion.

Quick on the heels of sight, came the realization that even though there were two people in the bed with him, Aragorn couldn’t read the mind of either one of them when he probed for information about what had happened and where he was. Tensing up at that discovery, Aragorn threw his senses wider, without any better result. He couldn’t feel the thoughts of anyone, anywhere.

“Mmmm…” One of the arms tightened over Aragorn’s chest. Boromir’s familiar voice mumbled soothing noises at the shell of Aragorn’s ear. “Nae yet, luv. S’ all right… s’ still early. Go back ter sleep.” A sleepy kiss brushed skin and Boromir silenced once more.

Holding down the panic that wanted to bubble up, Aragorn used what senses he had remaining to discover what was going on. Crinkled, lighter blond hair was tickling against Aragorn’s skin. If Boromir was in the bed with him, then the identity of the other body was fairly obvious. Faramir lay with them, and from the feel of it he was also the only one wearing any clothing. One of the legs tangled up with Aragorn’s was covered with thin, soft material.

In a whisper only just loud enough for Aragorn to hear, Faramir asked, “Are you all right then?” The young king’s face shifted so he could see Aragorn’s face. “Are you still Aragorn?” The question seemed calm enough, but Faramir’s chest was tightening up, as if he was preparing to pull free or perhaps shout for help.

“I didn’t want to be released,” Aragorn complained in a soft tone, not wanting to disturb Boromir yet. His arm tightened, holding Faramir in a firm embrace. “That wasn’t the deal, boy.” His grip on Faramir had to be skirting the edge of painful but he didn’t let up. “I just wanted open access to Gondor. I didn’t ask for this.”

“I’m sorry.” Faramir’s voice was genuinely regretful. “I really am… but I thought it through. I turned it every which way and looked at all the possibilities. This is the only way.”

“It’s worked the way it was for generations, you foolish child. There was no need to take away my power… my immortality,” he hissed. It was getting harder to stay still and not disturb Boromir.

“You’ve never been so powerful as you became while father and Éowyn were wielding you. You’d never been so well fed before,” Faramir murmured. “And it would have been too easy for me to fall into depending on you to make up for my own uncertainties. You would have eaten me alive.” He shifted just a little so he could look up. “Aragorn was a normal man not so very long ago. If you’re still Aragorn, I’m certain you can re-learn the way of things.” His eyes flicked to Boromir. “I know someone who will help you.”

Aragorn stared at his former master. It was odd, looking at the king of Gondor and knowing he didn’t have to oblige the person who held that title any longer. “You were afraid of me, of my power. You’re still afraid of me,” he accused. “You know you didn’t stand a chance against me the way I was. That’s why you chose to free me, to strip me of my magic.”

“Must the two most important people in my life snap and snarl at each other… especially while I’m trying to sleep?” Boromir’s sleepy complaint interrupted, silencing them both. He sighed and pushed up to one elbow so he could see Aragorn more clearly. With a grave expression, Boromir met Aragorn’s eyes. “Are you… still you?”

“No,” Aragorn admitted honestly. “I’m not.” He felt terrifyingly incomplete. Entire lifetimes were now only distant recollections rather than clear memories. Only the last few hundred years were easy to grasp. Emotionally, he felt as if he’d been turned inside out and tipped sideways. There were regrets bothering him once more that hadn’t mattered to him since his merging with Isildur’s line. Everything felt raw and out of control.

The pain that blossomed in Boromir’s eyes at hearing that statement demanded more from Aragorn. Faramir was released and Aragorn caught after Boromir with both hands to prevent the withdrawal he saw coming. “But I am enough the same… to know that I still love you, that I still want you above all else.”

“Above your former powers?” Faramir spoke as he shifted upright. The interruption earned him a harsh glare from Aragorn, but he pressed on. “Because that’s the price that had to be paid to share Boromir’s life.”

“So you say, boy.”

“So said the king of Gondor… your former master and my present master,” Boromir added in a soft whisper. “Was the price too high, Aragorn? Tell me the truth.”

There was note of doubt in Boromir’s question that made Aragorn’s attention snap back to his lover, eyes wide. Aragorn stared, trying to compensate for his lack of insight into Boromir’s thoughts by absorbing every detail of Boromir’s expression. At some point over the last two years Boromir had changed from a pleasant diversion to the only thing that really mattered to Aragorn. His duties had become tasks to be finished as quickly as possible so he could return home. All his long excursions to immerse himself in one culture or another of Middle-Earth had ended the day he’d brought Boromir home. Leaving Barad-dur to fetch supplies had become a chore rather than an amusing change. “No.” The word huffed out. “No, it wasn’t too high a price.”

The smile that lit up Boromir’s face kindled a responding fire in Aragorn.

“I love you, Aragorn.”

Without his magic, there was no jolt to remind him of the binding that those words had once represented, but still they filled Aragorn with warmth. Nor was the kiss that Boromir gifted him with a moment later any less powerful because of the loss. It was all-encompassing bliss, hot and provoking in every way. Aragorn’s mouth opened and he wallowed in the pleasure. He barely noticed the mattress shifting underneath them, until Boromir drew away from the kiss with a sigh and looked to the side of the bed.

“I should… see Elphir, Lothiriel… check with Éomer.” Faramir’s mumbles were barely audible. His shoulders shrugged and he crossed his arms protectively in front of himself.

Boromir frowned and shot a look of distress at Aragorn. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as difficult as Aragorn feared, learning to read his lover without the aid of magic. “You could stay, Faramir,” he allowed, realizing that was what Boromir wanted. Aragorn had entertained the possibility of having both the brothers in the past. Those memories were quick to flare up, dampening the resentment Aragorn was dealing with over Faramir’s trick.

“Please, Faramir.” Boromir made himself clear on his opinion. “Stay with us until morning. It’s only…” Looking around provided few clues. “It’s still early. I know it is.” Pulling away from Aragorn, Boromir climbed up to his knees.

Faramir was clearly torn, his eyes shifting from his clothing, to the door, to his brother’s nude form, and then to Aragorn. “I had my time. It’s over. I can accept that. I should go.”

Grasping after his confidence and needing to prove to himself that he was still able to manipulate others at will, Aragorn caught Boromir’s shoulder and adjusted him, displaying Boromir like a prize. “FARAMIR!” The command was back in his voice, a great relief. “Do you know what Boromir wants?” The seductive purr reached out and snared Faramir’s attention. “He wants you in front of him and me behind him. He wants to kiss you and stroke you. He wants to suck you down while I shove my cock up his pretty arse.”

The king of Gondor had frozen in place at the sound of his name, eyes on Boromir, unconsciously licking his lips. Upon hearing Aragorn’s obscene suggestion he shuddered and gasped for air.

Boromir’s reaction wasn’t much different. His body quaked, and then arched out toward his brother. Boromir’s head fell backward to rest on Aragorn’s shoulder. A shiver wracked him as Aragorn’s fingers traced a line down Boromir’s ribs and hip-bone, high-lighting the elegant curve.

“If I pushed Boromir forward,” Aragorn rumbled out the words “His mouth would be right there… right where you needed it, sweet one.” Aragorn tickled his fingers upward, tormenting skin along the way, until he reached Boromir’s mouth. Those lips parted under the slightest bit of pressure. Aragorn’s fingers were not only allowed inside, but sucked eagerly. “I know you’ve had him while I was forbidden his company, Faramir. Was he everything you imagined, everything that you wished for while you lay in the darkness stroking yourself and hating yourself for the visions you needed to use to get off?”

The fascinated horror that Aragorn saw on Faramir’s face further alleviated the resentment he felt at having his powers torn away from him. His magic might be gone but Aragorn took solace that he was still able to manipulate the king of the largest empire in Middle-Earth with just a few simple words.

Faramir took an unsteady step back toward the bed. His mouth hung open and his fingers were flexing against his own arms in a manner that would likely leave bruises.

“It’s all right, pretty king,” Aragorn purred. Pulling his fingers out of Boromir’s mouth, Aragorn purposefully smeared glistening moisture across Boromir’s down-covered cheek and lower, to his neck.

Moaning out his arousal, Boromir bent under the lightest touch. When Aragorn’s palm finally reached the back of his shoulder and pushed, Boromir fell forward, a slow, elegant movement. Landing on his hands, Boromir let his head hang down, hiding his face.

Catching a handful of golden-brown hair, Aragorn forcibly exposed Boromir’s face to Faramir. “I watched his dreams,” Aragorn divulged in an enticing growl. “I crawled through his memories and fantasies. I saw you through his eyes, Faramir. I tasted what he felt when he was near you. I feasted on his shame and his desires.” Aragorn’s smile was wicked. “Shall we fulfil one of his dearest wishes, sweet Faramir?” Leaning to cover Boromir, Aragorn licked at his spine. “Open your mouth my golden lover. Faramir is going to fill it.” Looking up, Aragorn caught Faramir’s shocked expression. “You’ll have to be the one to take down your pants and to feed it to him. If Boromir moves his hands, he’ll fall on his face… and that would make it difficult for him to suck you, would it?”

Curses hissed out of Faramir. He edged closer again, but still stayed just far enough away that his cloth-covered erection didn’t touch Boromir’s parted lips. Faramir’s fingers twitched at the waistline of his leggings but he didn’t lower the material.

Smiling at Faramir’s hesitation, Aragorn eased backward. Dragging himself against Boromir’s squirming body, Aragorn could feel his lover’s panting desperation right through muscle and skin. “My love, my light. Not to worry. You’ll get what you want,” Aragorn promised against the curve of Boromir’s bottom. Hands tracing, Aragorn used his thumbs to part rounded flesh, while his fingers held tight to hips. Aragorn puffed out one warm breath in warning before pressing his face in to lick at impossibly sensitive skin.

Boromir shuddered, tensing.

“The door’s not locked. The guard…” Panic flavoured Faramir’s reminder. “Boromir, don’t scream.”

Pulling back briefly, Aragorn chuckled. “He will. He’ll shriek out his pleasure for the entire Tower to hear if you don’t take down your pants and fill his mouth so he can’t, sweet one.” That said, Aragorn bent in to lick at Boromir once more.

Cloth rustled and Faramir gasped desperately. Boromir’s loud moan strangled off into a faint whimper of pleasure a moment later. His entire body jolted in surprise and Boromir strained forward only to be dragged back by Aragorn’s grip on his hipbones.

It was harder now he had to bother with breathing, but Aragorn persisted. He teased the entrance to Boromir’s body with his tongue, thrilled by the way Boromir shook and tried to spread his legs even wider. Aragorn curled his tongue to breach the hole and was rewarded with a muffled scream of delight.

Faramir’s panting breaths were a little louder, but they sounded torn, as if he was trying hard to contain them and failing. Each time Aragorn pressed his tongue inside Boromir, Faramir was the one to whimper in response.

When his own desires grew too sharp to delay any longer, Aragorn shifted up to his knees. He wiped at his chin with the back of his hand, and then reached across the straining curve of Boromir’s trapped body to cup Faramir’s shining face. “Open your eyes, pretty king. Look at me!” Aragorn demanded.

Lashes fluttered over stunned blue eyes. A thin line of blood trickled from Faramir’s harshly bitten lips.

The luminous red made Aragorn smile. He used two fingers, attempting to gather up the vital fluid. Moving slowly so Faramir’s unfocused eyes could follow the action, Aragorn brought his fingers to his own mouth and sucked off the smear of blood. Even though his need to feed on the precious liquid was gone, the blood still tasted wonderful.

A pained moan escaped Faramir as he watched the display. That moan became almost a keen as Aragorn used those same fingers when he reached down and pressed into Boromir’s body.

“Don’t spill it, Faramir. Hold it. It will be worth the wait. I promise,” Aragorn rumbled before easing his fingers free, lining himself up, and shoving his erection in with a single, smooth thrust.

Faramir winced and pulled away. Boromir gasped out a faint protest at the denial, but it strangled off as Aragorn seized his lover and dragged Boromir up higher, against his chest. Snaking his arms around Boromir, Aragorn was able to pinch at his nipples and stroke his belly while pumping into Boromir’s shuddering body. Concentrating on the feel of Boromir clenching around him and the burn in his thighs at taking his lover in this position, Aragorn missed the exact moment when Faramir surrendered to desire, scrambled out of his disarranged, halfway stripped off leggings and plastered himself to Boromir’s front.

With Faramir helping to balance them, Aragorn was able to throw his entire weight into slamming in and dragging out of Boromir’s shaking body. Aragorn bit down at Boromir’s shoulders, but newly blunted teeth bruised rather than drawing blood. One hand, a hand that had to be Faramir’s, reached around to dig rounded fingernails into Aragorn’s skin. Boromir was whining, although the sound muffled by the fact his mouth was locked to Faramir’s and broken by grunts at each of Aragorn’s thrusts.

Orgasm finally came, tearing up and wracking Aragorn with a violence had hadn’t expected. Aragorn clung, sinking his teeth in and gripping sweating flesh so hard it had to be bruising. Panting, he finally withdrew from Boromir’s body. His legs felt like wet sand but, Aragorn forced himself to settle back gracefully against the pile of the pillows on the bed and stretch out. Catching Boromir by the hair and tugging was the only way to separate the brothers. Boromir was dragged down to lay, face up, between Aragorn’s tingling legs.

Kneeling above them, Faramir was a sight. His eyes were wild, his lips were wet and bruised, and drips of milky precome leaked from his erection. He trembled and his fists clenched. “I… want.” Faramir rasped out the words with difficulty.

Boromir’s body arched up as if the sentiment had been a physical caress.

“Lift your legs, my love. Let me hold you open for him,” Aragorn whispered against the top of Boromir’s head.

An open mouthed moan shook Boromir and he obeyed. Aragorn caught hold of the underside of Boromir’s knees as soon as they came in reach and gripped them hard, pulling them back against Boromir’s chest and almost bending him over double.

Faramir gasped at the completely decadent offering. This was nothing like the careful, luxurious hours of making love that he and Boromir had shared in the royal bed. This was unabashedly obscene. It was raw, depraved, and strangely mesmerizing. His forefinger touched first, trailing through the drips already leaking out of Boromir’s opened hole. Boromir stifled a wail by turning his face and biting into Aragorn’s upper arm.

“Do it, Faramir,” Aragorn coaxed. “I loosened him up for you. Take what you want… as hard and as fast as you want to. Take him.”

Settling in place was awkward, Faramir didn’t seem to know where to put his hands. He used one to steady himself, holding his shaft briefly before his body surged forward and he pierced Boromir to the core. After that it was just a knot of arms, hands and legs. Faramir wrapped the fingers of his right hand around Boromir’s still unsatisfied erection and squeezed while the other threaded through tangled limbs to brace himself. One of Boromir’s legs slipped and Aragorn’s free hand interlocked with Faramir’s to fist Boromir’s cock.

“Keep your eyes open, Faramir,” Aragorn taunted. “Keep them open and memorize this so you’ve got something to keep you hard while whatever vapid virgin they thrust upon you as queen lays underneath you like a dead fish waiting for you to give her baby. That’s when you’ll close your eyes. That’s when you’ll need the memory of pounding like an animal into Boromir’s eager body to heat your blood.”

“Be quiet!” Faramir snarled, even as he strained to bury himself ever deeper inside Boromir.

“Faramir,” Boromir whispered against salty skin. His heel dug into the small of Faramir’s back, urging his brother on. His body surged into the thrusts as much as his trapped position would allow. “Aragorn.” Boromir’s head tossed and his neck arched. “I’m so close.”

“Then let it come, love. You’ve waited long enough,” Aragorn crooned. “Clamp down on your little brother’s cock and milk him dry. Drag him tight into you, where you always wanted to keep him.” Aragorn’s fingers coaxed. “You’re so beautiful when you’re getting off. I want to watch it forever. I want to see it every day, every night… until the end of time. Sweet Boromir. My light. My love. Anything you need. Anything you want. I’ll get it for you.”

“Ahhh!” One of Boromir’s arms twisted painfully to reach up and backward, to clutch at Aragorn, even as both his legs wrapped around Faramir and squeezed. The sound he let out was victorious and thick with pleasure.

Faramir’s shuddering groan was decidedly more painful as he slammed the last of his strokes into Boromir. Panting, the tightness in his limbs gradually softened away and Faramir slumped. His arms wrapped around Boromir and held on desperately.

Petting, Faramir’s reddish-blond hair, Aragorn kissed Boromir.


Everyone in Faramir’s office fell silent as Lord Elphir was ushered inside. Éomer was holding tight to the packet full of documents concerning the Riddermark. Faramir straightened up from where he was leaning on the desk. Aragorn was on the far side of the room from Éomer, attempting to keep within the shadows that the thin sunlight from the single window didn’t reach.

For his part, Boromir broke into a brilliant smile. “Elphir! Cousin.” Boromir paced over and drew the other man into a brief embrace. They didn’t see each often but Boromir and Elphir weren’t too distant from each other in age and interests so the few times that they had been together had been a pleasure for them both. “I heard about your father. I’m sorry. It was a tragedy. He was a fine man.”

“Thank you, Boromir.” Elphir’s smile was wistful. “We all miss him, and we never did locate the scoundrels who waylaid him and killed him. It’s my greatest failing since taking over Dol Amroth, that I never managed to avenge my father.” Knuckles brush briefly across Boromir’s jaw. “It’s a damned shame. He would have been proud to see his little sister’s son on the throne of Gondor.” The way he phrased the sentence seemed to hint that both Elphir and his late father would have preferred Boromir to succeed Denethor as king.

Boromir squeezed the shoulder of his favourite cousin. “Faramir is going to do us all proud.” Turning, Boromir urged Elphir closer to the desk.

“My king.” Elphir’s head bowed.

“Lord Elphir.” Faramir’s response was softly spoken.

It was an awkward moment. Elphir was several years Boromir’s elder and the few times that Faramir had met Elphir before his coronation, Faramir had been mostly ignored by the older boy.

Boromir broke in, bluntly bringing up the subject that both of them needed to discuss. “I suppose you know this is about Lothiriel,” he released Elphir’s shoulder to position himself halfway between Faramir and their cousin.

Elphir nodded. “Father always liked you Boromir. He had hopes that you would make a match with Lothiriel, although Denethor wouldn’t hear of it.”

“She’s always been a sweet little bit of a girl.”

“Not a little girl anymore, cousin. Didn’t you see her at the coronation?”

“The day was a trifle… overwhelming.” Boromir shrugged. He hadn’t had eyes for anyone but Faramir.

“I saw her. She was at your side,” Faramir took up the conversation. “A lovely young woman in a pale blue dress. Very quiet, very poised,” he remarked.

“Lothiriel is also a much sought-after girl. There have been five proposals of matrimony made about her just this year.”

“But an offer from the King of Gondor would be preferred, correct?” Boromir cut to the heart of the matter.

Elphir spared a glance in Éomer’s direction, before turning his eyes to Boromir. “Or from the Captain of Gondor’s army.” He didn’t want his sister wedded to Éomer it seemed, even though Éomer was the existing heir to the empire.

An uncomfortable silence fell over all of them as they each realized what the next step had to be.

Aragorn flowed into the gap, stepping into the light. “King Faramir needs a girl who was raised to orchestrate a court. He’d like to marry your sister, Lord Elphir… and you want the best for Lothiriel. It doesn’t get any more royal than the Queen of Gondor.” Aragorn gestured to a parchment on the desk. “Those are the terms that Faramir is offering in regards to her dowry, goodwill concessions and a bride price. Read them and get back to him by dinner tonight.”

Faramir’s cheeks burned red. Elphir looked scandalized at the mercenary tone of Aragorn’s voice.

“This is Aragorn,” Boromir attempted to explain to his cousin. “Aragorn is…” he faltered.

“Aragorn is a special advisor to the throne, who works under Boromir’s direct authority,” Faramir finished for his brother.

Elphir’s eyes narrowed. “Do I know you?”

Aragorn’s smile was frighteningly smug. “No, you don’t. Although I did have dealings with your father, and your family, on behalf of King Denethor on a fair number of occasions.” Reaching out, Aragorn picked up the marriage contract and presented it to Elphir. “Look it over and if you agree, King Faramir requires that it be signed with all haste.”

“Aragorn…” Faramir’s tone was annoyed.

Rounding on the young king, Aragorn’s voice raised. “This entire empire depends on two childless eighteen-year-old boys,” he stated without hesitation. “You don’t have any time to waste, my king. If Lord Elphir is not interested in making his sister the Queen of Gondor, you need to find out promptly and see to picking out another girl.” Turning slightly, Éomer was pointed out. “Nor does Prince Éomer have much time to spare fiddling about. Every concession Faramir has made to you is temporary. You will never be more than a glorified governor in the Riddermark, Éomer. It doesn’t become an independent kingdom again until your SON inherits. Your son will be a king, so you’d best see to siring one on a proper wife soon.”

Éomer glared, but it didn’t appear to faze Aragorn in the least.

Seeing a private argument beginning, Elphir cleared his throat. “Lothiriel and I will have an answer for you in two hours. If everything works out, the wedding can be announced at dinner this evening, your majesty.”

“Thank you, Elphir.” Boromir took the task of seeing his cousin to the door.

“A special advisor to the throne?” Éomer mimicked, once the lord of Dol Amroth was gone. He sneered at Aragorn.

Brows arching, Aragorn looked to Faramir.

“He knows things,” Faramir began. “He knows more about politics and intrigue than all three of us put together. I’m not about to waste any resources at this point.”

“You can’t trust him,” Éomer countered, lip curling. “You’ve no bindings on him anymore. He hasn’t even sworn his loyalty to you, Faramir. He’s without any allegiances.”

“That’s not true,” Faramir corrected. “There’s one thing in the entire world that Aragorn cares for.”

Everyone looked at Boromir, who frowned at the attention.

“Boromir, as Captain of the army…” Faramir asked, “… will you accept the responsibility of supervising Aragorn if I retain him as an… independent observer and advisor on political tactics?”

“Just say ‘spy’, pretty king.” Aragorn smirked. “We all know that’s what you mean.”

Faramir shrugged. “According to the histories, you were a Ranger of Dunland and the northern reaches before you were chosen as a vessel of the demon. I expect you’ll be an asset.” Faramir looked into Aragorn’s deceptively mild, blue eyes. “Will you swear loyalty to me once more, as a man this time? Will you take the position?”

There was a long pause. Aragorn pursed his lips. “I will, on one condition.” He looked over to Éomer, his mouth pulling into a smile. “Prince Éomer will need to marry as well. I want the task of choosing his bride. I want him to promise to marry whatever bride I pick out for him.”

“That’s absurd,” Éomer objected.

“Do you have anyone in mind already?” Faramir asked of Éomer. “Or were you just going to take whoever the council suggested for you?”

“I don’t want to get married.” Éomer pulled the papers granting him control of the Riddermark close to his chest.

“Neither do I,” Faramir snapped. “But Aragorn is right. We both need sons… quickly. One girl is much like another when you don’t want any one in particular.” He sighed. “Please Éomer. I could use Aragorn. Will you take his choice of a bride?”

“I just want to go home, Faramir. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I just want to take… what’s mine,” Éomer verbally stumbled to keep from saying Éowyn’s name, “… and go back to Edoras.”

“I’ll bring her to you,” Aragorn offered. “In one year I’ll bring you a wife, and I expect you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

“Éomer please,” Faramir coaxed.

“May I leave tomorrow, or do I have to linger here for your wedding, Faramir?”

“You can go, if it’s what you want.”

“And will you see us both off… as be-fits siblings of the king?” Éomer pushed.

“Éomer,” his tone cautioned.

“Just treat her as MY sister deserves, even if you don’t want to acknowledge that she’s your’s too. That’s all I’m asking,” Éomer bargained. “Give her that much dignity. Don’t make us slink out of here like unwanted beggars.”

“And you’ll accept whatever girl Aragorn brings you? You’ll marry her without putting up a fuss?” Faramir’s nose was wrinkled, as if a foul odour was annoying him.

“I will. I promise.”

“Then I will see happily see you off at nine tomorrow morning in the courtyard, my brother… and I will politely bid goodbye to YOUR sister.”


Too many times in his life Faramir had stood in the courtyard of the White Tower saying good-bye to one person or another. There was a bitter-sweetness to this particular parting. He really would miss Éomer. Their childhood was now completely gone. Both young men were taking up demanding positions in different parts of the county. They would see each other only once every year or two. This parting did mean, however, that if he wished it, Faramir would likely be able to avoid speaking to Éowyn for the rest of his life.

After so many repetitions of saying good-bye to Boromir while Éomer stood by offering support, it was especially odd to be doing it the other way around. Boromir and Aragorn stood off to the left and behind. Lothiriel, already acting the part of Faramir’s future bride, was to the right with a lady-in-waiting chaperoning her.

Éomer and Éowyn each stood beside a waiting mount. Faramir scuffed his feet slightly as he approached the pair. He kept his gaze on Éomer as much as possible.

Éomer wouldn’t allow the avoidance, however. The deal had been that Faramir would grant Éowyn a proper farewell, and Éomer enforced it. He caught at Faramir’s arm and purposefully turned him once they were close enough.

The half siblings stared at one another. Éowyn found her voice first. “I WILL miss you, Faramir. I do love you. I always have. I really was thinking of your best interests.”

“Do not.” Faramir shook his head. “I don’t want to fight with you.” Catching Éowyn’s shoulders, Faramir leaned in to kiss her cheek, startling backward when she attempted to turn her mouth into the kiss. “Please don’t,” he repeated firmly. “Lothiriel is watching.”

Éowyn’s chin lifted. “You don’t love her.”

“But I am going to marry her,” Faramir replied softly. “And it’s all about appearances today, not emotions, or I wouldn’t be here with you.” While Éowyn went still with sudden anger, Faramir pressed a fleeting kiss on her cheek and retreated quickly.

Éomer frowned. “This isn’t exactly what I wanted.”

“I know,” Stepping up to his half-brother, Faramir eased both his hands into Éomer’s long hair, and cupping the sides of his head, Faramir drew him forward so their foreheads touched. “I am sorry, Éomer, but the wound is still fresh and it’s hard to pretend otherwise.”

“We both love you, Faramir.” Éomer settled his own hands on Faramir’s shoulders with the thumbs just brushing his gold- braided collar. “I’m worried about you… being here with only Boromir looking after you.”

“Boromir took care of me for years, better than my father and mother both. I’ll be fine. It’s you that concerns me, Éomer.”

“She loves me,” he assured. “I know you don’t trust Éowyn’s motives any longer, but I believe that she truly loves me… and I love her.”

A single kiss was taken, and then Faramir backed away. His expression was grave. “It’s a pity that you will miss my wedding, but in a year we’ll celebrate your’s together, brother-mine.” He forced a smile. “I’m eager to see Edoras. I have never been to Ro… the Riddermark before,” Faramir corrected himself at the last moment.

Éomer’s head bowed. “We look forward to seeing you again… no matter the circumstances.” His distaste for the upcoming wedding was clear.

“Faramir?” Éowyn’s tone was expectant.

“Good-bye Éowyn.” Turning away, Faramir climbed the steps, giving them room to mount and allowing the horses space enough to fidget if they needed it. Faramir’s eyes flicked toward Boromir and Aragorn, but he purposefully moved to stand with Lothiriel. His posture was stiff.

When the reassuring heat of Boromir’s hand settled on Faramir’s shoulder it eased some of his tension. The two men had moved over to present a united front. Boromir had placed himself right at Faramir’s back.

Éowyn swung up into the saddle, threw a nasty glare in their direction, and whirled her mare around and away. Éomer’s eyes lingered a moment, but he was quick to chase after his sister when she bolted.

“I wish…” Faramir began.

“Next year is next year, little one,” Boromir interrupted the sentence. “Let it go until then. You’ve other concerns to put your mind to.”

Nodding, Faramir turned to his intended bride. “Shall I see you back to your brother’s rooms, my lady, or is there another place that you need to go?”

“Oh,” Lothiriel turned her sky blue eyes Boromir’s way. “I wouldn’t dream of distracting you from important business, my lord Faramir. Perhaps your brother could show me down to the kitchens? I wish to inspect the staff.”

“Boromir is for the training yard, Lady Lothiriel.” Aragorn gracefully stepped in and caught the girl’s arm. “But I would love to escort to you about the tower while the Captain and the King tend to their business.”

If she was disappointed by the substitution, the girl covered it perfectly. Aragorn was gifted with a demure smile. “You are too kind, sir. Thank you.”

“Then I will see you at dinner tonight,” Faramir inclined his head slightly before turning his back on Aragorn and Lothiriel. When he started walking Boromir fell in step with him.

“He won’t disappoint you, Faramir. I suspect that Aragorn is going to worth his weight in gold to you before this year is over.”

Faramir’s smile was tight. “I know.” They reached a parting of their paths all too soon. “Don’t over-strain yourself sparring, Boromir.”

“I know, I know. I’m badly out of shape, but I’ll be careful.” Impulsively, Boromir reached up and ruffled Faramir’s hair as much as the circlet on his head allowed. “And don’t you strain your pretty head. I’ll see you at dinner too… if not sooner.”


The entire path from the main hall to the Royal suite was strewn with bits of flowers. Some of the velvety white petals had fallen from Lothiriel’s crown, train or bouquet, but the rest of it had been purposefully scattered by the girls and ladies who composed the new queen’s court.

Faramir had delayed following the flowery trail for as long as was socially acceptable, but it couldn’t be put off any longer. When Elphir had moved to stand at the archway and tapped his foot impatiently, Faramir knew it was time to follow the women upstairs.

An entire herd of ladies had accompanied Lothiriel up to the suite, but Faramir had only three companions. Elphir walked ahead with old Eredon of Calembel. The two of them were standing witness as representatives for the council and the empire. Boromir was a comforting presence at Faramir’s side. He was the military’s witness.

“I know they’ve got to be here,” Faramir sighed, keeping his voice to a low whisper. “But they aren’t helping to quell this desire I’m feeling to flee to the stables and out of the city.”

“Just try to ignore them for now and concentrate on the task at hand, Faramir. There’s a swath of fabric draped over the bed at about waist level,” Boromir kept his own tone soft. “They’ll… we’ll leave the sitting room when you come out and give it to them… us. I’m going to be out there too. It comes with my position. Faramir, it has to be stained with blood or there will be trouble.” Slowing their step a little, Boromir caused them to fall back a bit from the noblemen. “If she doesn’t bleed when you take her, or there isn’t much blood… cut your hand and smear it on the fabric if you want to keep Lothiriel. The cloth is going to have to hang in the hall for everyone to see.”

Faramir cursed archaic traditions and stared down at his feet.

“Father flew the sheets he laid mother down on from the poles beside his tent door. She told me about it.” Boromir hitched his head, gesturing to indicate how close they were to Faramir’s suite. “Can you do this?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I’ll have to, won’t I?”

Eredon and Elphir were holding open the doors to the royal suite. A flood of females poured out a moment later, twittering like newly released songbirds.

“Let me stand as your valet, Faramir.” Boromir requested. “I’ll help you out of your gear and get you ready for bed. It’s supposed to be someone you can trust to see Lothiriel half-undressed, someone like her brother… but if you’ll let me…”

Nodding vehemently, Faramir pushed into movement once more, leading the way this time. The Gondorian lords followed them in and shut the doors behind themselves.

When Elphir moved as if to follow Faramir deeper into the suite, Boromir waved him off. “I’m going with him.”

“Boromir, I don’t suggest it.” Elphir frowned, looking uncomfortable. “You would be best kept away from the new queen this night. She…” He grimaced. “Lothiriel is rather too fond of you, Boromir. She has been since she was a little girl. Perhaps I should be the one to help Faramir.”

“I’ll close the bed curtains around her,” Faramir compromised. “Boromir is coming in to help me out of this damned frippery I had to wear for the ceremony.” The costuming for the wedding was an intricate decorated, excessively elaborate concoction of white, gold and green, four layers thick. None of the nobles who were part of the core ritual would be able to undress themselves.

Faramir ended the disagreement by simply walking away. Boromir smiled fleetingly and followed his brother into the bedroom. He shut the door between them and the outer room, sliding the bolt into place for good measure. Elphir and Eredon might be upset by the barrier, especially if Boromir lingered too long in the bedroom, but neither of them would share the tale of the transgression beyond these walls. Elphir might even like to think that Boromir’s child would come of this night’s work rather than Faramir’s, although he would never speak of it aloud.

“My lord?” Lothiriel sat on the side of the bed clutching a sheer, frothy white robe about herself. “My lords?” she corrected, eyes wide as she realized both the brothers were in the room.

“Give me just a few moments, please.” Faramir paced over, and urging his new wife to perch up on the mattress, he yanked the heavy curtains that surrounded the bed tightly closed.

Boromir padded about the room, blowing out most of the candles. He left only one stand of them burning near the head of the bed. It didn’t allow for much light to undress Faramir with, but the shadows were their friends considering Lothiriel could easily peer out from between the heavy velvet curtains if she felt the urge. “Over here, Faramir,” Boromir called softly from the most distant corner of the room from the bed.

Blinking to adjust his eyes, Faramir followed his brother’s voice into the heavy gloom near one of the tall wardrobes.

“Boots first.”

Faramir felt Boromir kneel before him, rather than seeing it. When strong hands caught at his leg, Faramir reached out to brace himself. One hand caught the wardrobe, the other settled into Boromir’s soft hair. His breath caught as Boromir’s hands set to work. “Where is Aragorn? I haven’t seen him in hours.”

“He’s prowling about the guest rooms while everyone is at the celebration.” Boromir’s breathy whisper was hard to hear. “I expect he’s going through Elphir’s suite right about now since Elphir is trapped here until you bring out the sheet.”

Faramir would have chuckled if he had any breath to spare, but the clearly sexual quality of Boromir’s touch was flustering him beyond words.

“Aragorn is worried you might have trouble with all this. He’s the one who detailed the customs for me.” Both of Faramir’s boots were set aside but Boromir didn’t rise. Still down on his knees, he reached up and set to relieving Faramir of his sword-belt. His voice continued on in a painfully quiet whisper, “He suggested that I do whatever was needed to get you ready for the marriage bed.” Fingers caressed in passing as Faramir’s belt was taken away.

“Boromir,” Faramir’s voiced the name like a gasp as Boromir rose up, the entire length of their bodies sliding together as he stood. “She’d accept you in the bed… if you wanted her.”

“I don’t.” Reaching around, Boromir loosened the ties hidden under Faramir’s shoulder sash. “You’ve more experience than I do with this kind of thing, Faramir. I’ve never had a woman. I don’t expect I ever will now.” His breath ruffled Faramir’s hair. “I don’t want to. I never want anyone else but Aragorn… and you.”

Faramir bit back a whimper.

“Quietly, love.” Boromir brushed a kiss across Faramir’s cheek before returning to the task of divesting Faramir of all the complex garments he was wearing. Gradually bare skin began to appear from beneath the layered outfit. More kisses teased across each bit of skin, hidden within the actions of removing the clothing.

Shivering, Faramir fought to hold still and quiet under the extended tease.

“I have to leave the door open when I leave so the others can witness the consummation. Try to get her to make some sort of noise if you can.”

“This is… barbaric.”

“Just a few generations ago they might come in and watched,” Boromir informed him. “Think of all that is detailed in those papers you and Elphir signed, then consider how much more complex it would have been if he was from a neighbouring country rather than your vassal.” The last of Faramir’s shirts was finally peeled upward. Gentle fingers traced down Faramir’s spine and Boromir’s mouth pressed to the nape of Faramir’s neck.

Closing his eyes, Faramir arched back into the contact. “You could stay in here and watch if you wanted to,” he offered.

“No, love. If an heir comes of what happens tonight, Eredon mustn’t have any doubts that it’s your’s… and not mine.” Fingers slipped inside Faramir’s waistband and eased it carefully downward. Lips right at Faramir’s ear, Boromir whispered. “Do you want me to…” He pressed his hand further into Faramir’s leggings and wrapped his hand around the erection he found there. Fingers tickled, stroking lightly.

Faramir had to seize Boromir’s hand and stop the action. “I won’t last if you do and then what?” His chuckle was bitter.

Boromir nodded and, staying behind Faramir, he knelt down to help Faramir out of his pants. Rising, Boromir was about to withdraw when Faramir caught the front of his shirt and dragged him into a proper kiss.

“I wish I was someone else besides the king of Gondor,” Faramir murmured. “I wish by all that’s holy I was Aragorn instead of myself. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Boromir whispered back. With one final stroke of his hand over Faramir’s cheek, Boromir ghosted over to the door, threw it wide open and disappeared into the glow of light from the outer room.

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

Enjoyed this story? Then be sure to let the author know by posting a comment at https://www.faramirfiction.com/fiction/legacy. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!


Be the first to comment

  Textile help

All fields except 'Web' are required. The 'submit' button will become active after you've clicked 'preview'.
Your email address will NOT be displayed publicly. It will only be sent to the author so she (he) can reply to your comment in private. If you want to keep track of comments on this article, you can subscribe to its comments feed.

Filter

Hide | Show adult content

Adult content is shown. [what's this?]

Adult content is hidden.
NB: This site is still for adults only, even with the adult content filter on! [what's this?]

Translate

  • DE
  • ES
  • JP
  • FR
  • PT
  • KO
  • IT
  • RU
  • CN