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Legacy (NC-17) Print

Written by Carla Jane

30 March 2004 | 95430 words

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Lothiriel and Aeryn

“It’s not a sight I ever expected to see,” Faramir remarked as he dropped down to sit cross-legged in the grass beside Aragorn.

The light was just fading from the sky and the scent of cooking food floated about the newly erected camp. Not too far away Lothiriel’s ladies were fussing about, attempting to create a nest comfortable enough for the queen to rest. At the very edge of the collection of wagons, horses and people Boromir was sparring happily with the newest addition to the court while Aragorn watched.

Boromir’s sparring partner had a style unlike any soldier of Gondor and it was actually testing Boromir’s recently recovered skills to match it. The technique shared some elements with Aragorn’s whirling strikes and bold actions but it was less flamboyant. The steps were defensive rather than aggressive.

“The Dunedain are skirmish fighters. Rangers and hunters rather than soldiers,” Aragorn remarked as he sharpened his own sword with long, steady strokes. “We’re used to fighting defensively… alone or in very small groups when the need arises.” He watched the bout with a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Aside from the temporary trial of Aragorn and Boromir missing one another while Aragorn had gone off to fetch Éomer’s bride, that trip seemed to have done wonders for Aragorn. The dark edge was off his temperament and he was far more comfortable with himself as a normal man than he had been when he had left Minas Tirith to travel north.

“Get him, mama!” Ranian shrieked out encouragement while she jumped up and down at Aragorn’s other side. The small child knew enough to stay out of range of the flashing swords but she couldn’t manage keep completely still.

Both Boromir and the woman he was fighting with were grinning wildly, but it was at each other rather than their audience. Neither Aeryn nor Boromir were willing to allow their attention to drift for fear of losing ground in the mock battle. It was a startling change from the first time they had tested one another’s skills. Boromir was no longer holding back for fear of hurting Éomer’s intended bride and Aeryn had lost all of the shyness she’d felt upon first being brought into Gondor by Aragorn.

“I swear…” Boromir huffed out the words between strikes. “If more women were like you, I’d see a point to having them about.”

Laughing at the backhanded compliment, Aeryn ducked low and swung playfully at Boromir’s groin to make him jump away from her. “Not that any woman with the common sense of a horse would bother to dally about with the likes of you,” she snapped back. “Mind your footing, Captain. There are gopher holes behind you.”

“Then we’d best…” Boromir’s attack grew more aggressive, forcing Aeryn to retreat. “Go in the other direction.”

The faint rustle of skirts was almost lost in the clang of steel on steel, but it was enough to bring both Faramir and Aragorn to their feet. The sparring match stopped a breath later, with both of the combatants stepping backwards and lowering their swords. Lothiriel waited for little Ranian to lapse into silence, just like her elders, before the queen attempted to speak. It was a mark of Lothiriel’s station that she never attempted to shout over other voices. She preferred to rely on everyone else falling silent before she spoke, which everyone, from the roughest soldier to the crabbiest of the Tower servants seemed to be willing to do before the young queen.

“I apologize for interrupting,” Lothiriel began in a soft, sweet tone. “But I have been informed that our supplies are running low. We will need to divert our path to a settlement to restock, or send a small group to fetch dry goods.”

Faramir’s gaze ran over the large encampment. “We’ll divert. Even in lands as safe and settled as these…” He turned his focus back to Lothiriel pretty face first, but his eyes dropped to her waistline of their own accord, as happened so often lately. “I will not risk diminishing your escort, dear Lothiriel.”

Lothiriel’s right hand spread over her stomach, drawing even more attention to the slight rounding that had recently developed there. “I suspect that you worry overmuch for my wellbeing, husband, but I must admit to finding your concern flattering.” Lothiriel smiled, gazing up at Faramir from under her lashes and through a tangle of golden ringlets. “And I would very much enjoy a chance to indulge in the comforts that an inn would offer us.” Almost by accident Lothiriel’s attention seemed to drift toward where Boromir and Aeryn were standing. “We are drawing closer to Edoras every day. Prince Éomer might very well ride out to meet us any time,” she observed. “Perhaps the Lady Aeryn would like to avail herself of my maids’ attentions? Maybe she could exchange her leather and furs for something more… elegant?”

Aeryn’s dark eyes sparkled and a knowing grin pulled at one side of her mouth. She looked at Aragorn and her eyebrows lifted. When she finally declined the offer, it was in a polite, yet firm, tone. “No, but thank you very much, your majesty. I prefer to remain in the garb of my people until we reach Edoras. Once we are there, the clothing of the Riddermark’s shield-maids will likely be my preferred choice.”

Turning to Aragorn, Faramir tilted his head. “Shield- maids?”

“A custom your father did his best to abolish,” Aragorn provided. “The Riddermark is far less settled than the rest of Gondor. Every able body was sometimes needed to defend hearth and home… most notably from the armies of Gondor.”

Faramir nodded, recalling Éowyn’s rather undomesticated nature and her preference for training with him and Éomer rather than pursuing traditionally feminine virtues. With every passing day he was coming to appreciate Aragorn’s choice for Éomer’s future wife even more. Yes, she was a few years older than Éomer, but he could use Aeryn’s stability and experience. Yes, she had a child already so she was hardly the typical virgin bride a prince expected, but that was a sure indication that Aeryn was fertile. Ranian, being a girl, was certainly no threat to Éomer’s line, either. Most importantly, Aeryn wasn’t the type of woman that Éowyn was going to be able to torment, or even dismiss as beneath her notice.

“Boromir and I could ride south-east,” Aragorn offered. “There’s a town not too far off in that direction, but I’m uncertain as to the quality of the terrain between here and there.” They had more than a few wagons with them in an effort to keep everyone comfortable along the route.

Faramir couldn’t help but shoot a knowing look in Boromir’s direction upon hearing the suggestion. With everyone in tents or under the stars at night, Aragorn and Boromir’s sexual relationship had been rather cool during this trip. No doubt they would get up to more than scouting the landscape if they went off together. “Will you be back by morning?”

“Of course,” Boromir paced over, fingers scraping sweat-wet hair back out of his eyes. “Our survey wouldn’t be much good elseways.”

“Me come! Me come!” Ranian crowed and jumped at Aragorn. Small hands clutched at his long riding coat. “I want to go s’ploring too.”

Sheathing her sword, Aeryn walked over and caught up her daughter. “Not this time, my darling.” Ranian was settled onto one strong hip.

“Best we start right off then.” Aragorn caught Boromir’s gaze. “I’ll grab us some food while you rinse off. We don’t need to bother with torches. It’s only a few days off the full moon.” Turning back to Lothiriel, Aragorn touched two curled fingers to his forehead and bowed slightly. “We will put every effort into finding you accommodations, my queen.”

“Thank you, Aragorn.” Her hand extended sideways, inviting Faramir to take it. “Will you come and sit with me, my lord? I’ve sorely missed your company and after spending all day in the wagon with the ladies it would be pleasant to hear a man’s voice… especially your’s.”

“Of course, my lady.” Faramir cast only the briefest glance after Boromir before turning his complete attention on his wife. She was drawn close and he curved one arm around her as they walked back toward the fires.


The court encountered a fair number of Riders, more and more as they drew closer to Edoras. All of them were respectful of their king and his company, but already there were suggestions of an independent spirit taking hold in Rohan once more. They all still wore the uniforms of the Gondorian army but their decorations were subtly different.

Éomer and his personal company met them about two days out from Edoras. He rode up to Faramir and the court with six riders at his side. It was enough men to convey Éomer’s importance without giving the impression of a threat. As soon as they drew within attack range, Éomer’s escort dropped back so he could bring himself along-side Faramir. Both their smiles were bright at the reunion.

“I’ve been dying to see you since the word came that you had started across the plains,” Éomer’s grin widened even further. “Isn’t the Riddermark beautiful, Faramir? There were times in the Tower when I wondered if it was imagination rather than memories that painted this place with such wonder… but it wasn’t. It’s everything I dreamed it was. I love it here.”

Faramir couldn’t contain the happy laughter that bubbled up at both Éomer’s presence and his clear excitement. Leaning over, he brushed his fingers down Éomer’s elaborate chest- plate. “I haven’t seen the like of this anywhere except in books. It suits you, Éomer.”

“One of the elders from outlying village brought it to Meduseld and gave it to me. It’s like what the men of my mother’s line wore.” His brow furrowed. “It’s all right, isn’t it, Faramir? The tree and stars are your’s. They belong to Gondor.”

“I understand why you want to be different, and I don’t have a problem with you wanting to revive the ways of the Rohirrim… but you’re still the heir to Gondor, Éomer,” Faramir reminded him.

“Not for long, from the news I’ve heard.” Twisting in his saddle, Éomer looked backwards over the rest of the train. “Where is the queen?”

“In a wagon. We don’t dare risk her riding a horse in her condition.” Faramir sat tall. “She’s expecting the baby by early winter.” His smile faltered when he realized that Éomer’s delighted expression had fled.

Éomer was stiff, and his mount was slowing in response to its rider’s odd posture. His sweeping gaze had halted on Aragorn. “Somehow…” Éomer began, “I’ve managed to go entire days without contemplating the purpose of your visit. I got lost in my joy at seeing you again and I forgot what it is that you’re bringing me.”

“I know it’s not what you want,” Faramir admitted. “But our positions demand it… and you did promise. You’ll like her, Éomer.” His tone was optimist. “She’s a remarkable woman.”

“And Lothiriel?” Éomer straightened out, dismissing Aragorn from his attention with some effort. “Do you like being married to her?”

Faramir’s shoulders shifted. “Everyone who meets her seems to like her. She’s done a great many things in the Tower that have made it more comfortable and everyone who’s introduced to her seems to be taken with her… from the most sophisticated city-raised noble to the representatives from the farm lands. I suppose she suits the position.” He sighed. “And she’s with child already. I’m told it’s a good sign that she conceived within the first year.”

“How positively romantic you sound, Faramir.” Éomer’s tone was cutting.

“Romance is for poets and shepherds, Éomer.”

“And Captains of the Guard, it seems,” he shot back. “What a complete jest it is. Boromir gets disgraced and he finds happiness while we have take up the royal duties and hide away our loves to marry strangers.” Éomer’s laugh was brittle. “Éowyn is…”

“Don’t,” Faramir cut him off, warning his half-brother away from mentioning Éowyn. “I don’t want to see her or hear about her. She’s not part of this visit.”

“Faramir, you’re being unreasonable.”

The argument was broken before it could properly begin by Aragorn and Aeryn racing up and past the king and the prince. “Come on, Horselord!” Aragorn shouted back over his shoulder as they tore past. “Show us how your horse stands up to the best animals in Dunland.”

“They must be joking,” Éomer stated, unable to believe that anyone would challenge the quality of his mount.

“Your horses are fast,” Faramir explained. “But those animals Aragorn picked up in Dunland have amazing stamina.”

Eyes brightening at the prospect of a different sort of race than he was accustomed to, Éomer looked forward at the lead the two had taken. “Do you mind, Faramir?”

“No. Go ahead and show them up. It’ll be nice to see Aragorn taken down a notch for a change.” His hand waved.

Not needing any more permission, Éomer grinned, flicked the reins, shouted at his mount, and took off in attempt to close the gap.

Once he was gone, Boromir drew up beside Faramir. They both gazed at the race that was beginning ahead of them.

“He frightens me sometimes, that’s he’s so good at reading us all,” Faramir said softly. “Aragorn, I mean. How did he know that this is exactly the right way to introduce Éomer to Aeryn?”

“All those other souls might be gone out of him,” Boromir answered in a bemused sort of voice. “But he still remembers more lives than just his own and he sees things differently than we do.” Waiting until Faramir looked over at him before continuing, Boromir whispered, “And he frightens me too sometimes.”


Boromir managed to make it all the way to the doors of the great hall of Meduseld before his stomach clenched up. The idea of entering that place yet again at the heels of a king of Gondor was just too much. He half-expected someone to run into the back of him because he’d stopped so suddenly, but it didn’t happen.

Aragorn was suddenly there, stroking a reassuring caress down the side of Boromir’s face. “The queen’s throne has been removed, love.”

“I don’t want to,” Boromir frowned. “I just don’t want to go in there.”

Faramir, walking with Éomer, was already in the door and half-way across the massive hall. Lothiriel was on her husband’s other side. The rest of the court dithered, not willing to by-pass Boromir, but wanting to catch up to Faramir and the queen.

“I have to go in with Aeryn,” Aragorn whispered in his most soothing tone. “But you don’t have to. You’re the Captain of the army, not a diplomat. Perhaps you could go look over the fortifications instead. I’ll tell the king where you’ve gone.”

Nodding, Boromir waved the lingering courtiers past. “I’ll catch up to everyone later.” The lot of them hesitated only long enough for Aragorn to take Aeryn’s arm and lead them in. Once they were gone, Boromir let out a relieved breath of air and turned around.

The day was bright and warm with just enough of a breeze to lift the flags and the view of the surrounding countryside from the Golden Hall was breathtaking. Boromir paced away from the front entrance and around to the west of the huge structure. Not many people were about. They were either at the reception for the king or tending to their work. All these visitors meant that inhabitants of Edoras had twice as much to do as normal.

Choosing a spot at random, Boromir stood still, pulling in calming breaths and attempting to clear his mind of the memories that were pestering him. When a voice interrupted him, it startled him even though it was soft-spoken.

“I know why I’ve been banished from the reception, but I would have thought you would be in the middle of things?” Éowyn’s slippers allowed her to step even closer without a wisp of noise. “Shouldn’t you be basking in Faramir’s attention… proud of your posting? So damned satisfied with how everything worked out for your benefit.” Her long hair lifted in the wind. “You got the lover you wanted, the position you wanted, none of the responsibilities that weigh on Éomer and Faramir bother you. Your life is just perfect, isn’t it, Boromir?”

“The two of us have nothing to say to each other, girl.” Boromir considered retreating from her company, but didn’t want to show that kind of weakness.

“Aragorn should have drank you dry when I gave you to him… but it’s my own fault… for not realizing my mistake.” She glared up at Boromir. “Aragorn had eaten too much of Denethor’s soul, he had become more like Denethor than I realized… and we all know how father felt about you.”

“Go away!” Boromir snapped at her, but the girl just laughed in his face.

“The only reason Aragorn ever wanted you was because Denethor wanted you. He didn’t fall in love with you,” she taunted. “Aragorn never chose to love you. He just absorbed the obsession along with Denethor’s essence.” Éowyn’s tone grew even more biting. “And you… you didn’t respond to Aragorn. You responded to the echo of father inside of him. Your soul recognized the man you’d been whoring for your whole life and you just continued on down the same path again… and since it was a different body you could admit to yourself just how much you enjoyed being father’s little slut without having to feel guilty about it.”

Boromir’s sword was drawn and levelled, but the tip of it shook badly.

“That’s why you wanted Faramir too, isn’t it? It’s just one more way to get our father in your bed without admitting that’s what you’ve always wanted. The only reason you didn’t whore yourself to Éomer too is because he isn’t enough like your first love to arouse your hunger. There hasn’t been anyone else, has there, Boromir?” Éowyn’s eyes glittered. “Just Aragorn and Faramir, because no one else is enough like father for you to feel anything for them.”

Steel touched her throat. “Silence!” Boromir demanded.

“Do it. Kill me,” Éowyn invited. “Tear your beloved Gondor apart. It will, when Éomer demands restitution and Faramir protects you, like he always has. What a lovely mess that will make. It would be worth dying to know the Riddermark would rise up once more and tear into Gondor peace-softened flank… and there’ll be no all-powerful demon to leap to Gondor’s defence this time… also, thanks to you.”

“Only if they find out who it was that killed you, you stupid little girl.” Boromir pressed just a little, drawing a trickle of blood to the surface.

“I think the girl I have watching us from a distance might find enough nerve to tattle on you, even if she’s too cowardly to interfere with the actual murder.”

Stepping back, Boromir lowered his weapon. “You’re nothing now, Éowyn. Aragorn has brought Éomer a wife. He’s going to fall in love with her. She’s going to give him children. You are going to slowly become less important than the muck being shovelled out of Edoras’ stables.”

“That may be… IF she can steal Éomer from me, which I doubt.” Her expression stayed stony. “But even if it happens I take comfort in knowing you’re going to suffer the same fate as me, brother-mine. Faramir will become more of a father and a husband with every passing season… and sooner or later, the last of Denethor’s influence will fade from Aragorn’s mind and he’ll toss you over as well for someone who isn’t overflowing with old hurts, someone who will do what he wants, someone who loves him and not the shadow inside him.” Slowly, Éowyn began to back away. “Of course you’ll still have your precious empire to defend. I’m sure that will be a comfort… until you become too old and feeble to swing a sword, then you won’t be any use to any one.” As soon as she was out of his reach, Éowyn laughed and swung around. Her words drifted back over her shoulder. “Perhaps I’ll see you at dinner… in the great hall… if you’ve the stones to walk in there.”


“This place isn’t so large…” Aragorn made his way down the incline between the mounds that suggested old graves with easy grace, “… that you can vanish to somewhere that I can’t find you, love.” He paced right up to where Boromir stood gazing up at the night sky. Both arms wrapped around Boromir’s body and drew him back against Aragorn’s chest. “I had to stop both Faramir and Ranian from coming in search of you several times.” He kissed at the side of Boromir’s neck. “I, myself, might have been more concerned if I hadn’t noticed you darkening the entranceway several times… even if you chose not to enter.”

Boromir’s body was still tense, despite the comforting embrace. “I’m in no mood for the type of festivities I saw happening.” The last time he had started to enter the great hall the sight of some unknown Rohirrim women dancing for the guests had halted him. The swing of long, blonde hair and swish of skirts and set him to flight that time.

“We won’t have to remain long.” Aragorn’s arms tightened. “Aeryn has no use for the pomp of a state ceremony and Éomer is growing more comfortable with the idea of his new bride by the moment. He was rather impressed when she proposed that they go hunting as soon as ‘all this wedding nonsense’ was out of the way.” Aragorn’s cheek rubbed into untidy golden-brown hair. “Faramir and Lothiriel will quite likely stay here a few weeks, but it’s perfectly reasonable for us to go back to Minas Tirith ahead of them.”

When no answer came, Aragorn released his hold on Boromir and forced his lover to turn around. Piercing blue eyes locked with green and Aragorn’s brow furrowed up as he studied Boromir. When Boromir tried to turn his face away a strong grip on his chin prevented the escape. “Tell me what’s happened,” Aragorn demanded. “There is more at work here than troubling memories.”

“How much of Denethor’s life do you remember?” Boromir’s question was whispered hesitantly.

“I did not live Denethor’s life.”

“But you absorbed pieces of him every time he called you,” Boromir countered. “You had devoured nearly all of him by the time he died. The spirit I felt leave you was… powerful. It felt just like father was there.”

Aragorn’s chin lifted and his expression grew even more concentrated. “I know what I do of Denethor’s life by looking through his thoughts, not by consuming him. Does eating a baked rabbit give you the urge to go bounding through clover?”

“I eat the rabbit’s flesh, not it’s soul.” Boromir jolted backward, freeing himself from Aragorn’s grip. “Answer me. How much of Denethor’s life do you remember?” he repeated. “How many of his memories do you possess? How many of his emotions did you share?”

It seemed for just a moment as if Aragorn was going to shout, but at the last second he calmed, letting out his breath slowly. “What has happened, Boromir? This must have come from somewhere.”

Boromir’s head shook. He didn’t want to admit that Éowyn’s poisonous hisses had affected him so deeply. “It’s…” He frowned, still looking outward rather than at Aragorn. “I DO love you.” A breath gusted out. “However… it was pointed out to me that the only reason you became attached to me was because of Denethor’s interest in me.” Boromir attempted to chuckle but the sound strangled off even as it emerged.

“I see.” Aragorn shot a murderous look back up toward the sprawling structures that housed the leaders of the Riddermark. “But IF that were the case, then the combination of expelling Denethor’s spirit and the time I spent travelling to Dunland and back while fetching Aeryn would have cooled my affection for you.” Aragorn slipped around Boromir to put them face to face once more. “But it didn’t. I adore you more now than I did when I first laid eyes on you, my love.”

Reaching up, Aragorn captured Boromir’s face between his hands and forced the other to meet his eyes once more. “My mind is filled with memories of relationships, from the most passionate affairs, to childhood crushes, to long loveless marriages,” Aragorn listed. “I know love when I see it, when I feel it… and I feel that way with you, my light. Anyone who would dare to dispute our bonding speaks only out of jealousy and spite.”

Boromir stared deep into Aragorn’s eyes, as if all the answers that hid from him might be found there. His head tilted to one side and his brows drew together in concentration. “Did you ever meet my mother?”

Startlement at the odd question straightened Aragorn’s spine. “I laid hands on her only briefly when I collected her for your father. After that I only ever saw her again through your father’s thoughts.”

“Did father love her? Ever? Or was it just a question of desire and possession?”

“He thought he loved her, but later on, it became a matter of ownership of something beautiful,” Aragorn’s response was cautious.

Boromir nodded. “Did you think my mother was beautiful, Aragorn?”

“She was, I suppose… in a purely aesthetic fashion, but Finduilas was fragile… far too fragile for the life that Denethor forced upon her. If I had to take a woman rather than you… I would find one more like Aeryn,” Aragorn elaborated. “I am NOT your father, Boromir. Even before the breaking of my magic I was not your father, nor did I become Éowyn simply because I feeding on her… although I know her well enough to see her handiwork in your fears.”

The deduction brought a flood of colour to Boromir’s cheeks.

“It’s late and your soul is wearied by the strain of this day,” Aragorn caught after Boromir’s hand. “I’ve secured a room for us in one of the outbuildings rather than in Meduseld. Come to bed, Boromir.”

He hung back just enough to feel the firm pull on his arm, before Boromir gave into Aragorn’s urgings and followed him back up the incline.


Aragorn took Boromir to the back room of the smithy. The blacksmith must have been sent somewhere else for the extent of their visit. It also appeared as if the smith’s normal accommodations had been augmented by some plush blankets and an oil lamp. The room was small, but the nest of blankets and pillows looked comfortable enough. They hung their weapons on hooks by the door and draped their armour and surcoats over the single chair in the room. Their boots were kicked off into the shadows.

Stripped down to just their undershirts and leggings, Aragorn eased Boromir down into their makeshift bed. “Lay back, love. Relax,” Aragorn murmured softly as he knelt down right next to him. “… close your eyes and let me touch you. Let me show you how much I love you.”

Sighing, Boromir sank back into the layers, but his eyes remained open and locked on his lover. The dim illumination of the single lamp might not be much, but it was enough for Boromir.

Reaching out, Aragorn’s fingertips began to trace Boromir’s face. The touch drifted across Boromir’s forehead and then down, to circle around sad green eyes. Realizing that Boromir’s eyes were going to stay open, Aragorn met his gaze and held it as his thumb brushed down the line of Boromir’s nose. Aragorn mapped out his lover’s lips, cheeks and jaw, following the carefully manicured lines of Boromir’s thin moustache and beard. “You are so beautiful.” The backs of fingers drew a line from one ear to the other, sketching out the curve of each ear in turn. “A work of art.” Aragorn’s touch traced down over Boromir’s chin to follow the line of his throat until he could dip his fingers into the open collar of Boromir’s shirt to caress tender skin.

Breath hissing out, Boromir arched into the touch. He started to reach up, only to have his wrist caught and pressed firmly back into the blankets.

“Let me. Trust me.” Aragorn shifted up so he was straddling Boromir. The pressure of his touch increased since a layer of thin cloth separated his fingers from Boromir’s chest. Calloused thumbs found and rolled against nipples which hardened at the contact. Chuckling at the eager response, Aragorn pulled at the tie that held the top of Boromir’s shirt closed. Slipping his hand under the loosened cloth, he stoked Boromir’s nipples.

“Aragorn…” Boromir shivered, squirming under the slow seduction.

“Help me take this off you,” Aragorn allowed, tugging at the pale chemise. It was peeled off and thrown to the side in two elegant moves, and then once more Boromir found himself pressed back down by firm hands.

Aragorn’s hungry gaze swept over his lover’s exposed chest and stomach. The dusting of golden blond hair gleamed in the warm light of the lamp. Aragorn took a moment to trace the line of sparse hair down to where it thickened slightly just at Boromir’s waistband, but then his fingers moved back up. The definition that had softened away during Boromir’s time in Barad-dur was back once more. His muscles were tightened back up from daily bouts of sword work and constant activity. The skin shivered under the light touches and Boromir’s chest was lifting with fast, shallow breaths.

“I could spend days just staring at you, love.” Aragorn laughed softly. “I have spent days at it. So strong outside, and yet so fragile inside.” Aragorn moved on to Boromir’s arms, massaging his biceps, then lifting each arm up, one at a time, so he could lick the skin from elbow to wrist. “Leave them here,” Aragorn requested, as he positioned Boromir’s arms up by his head. The pose made Boromir’s chest even more prominent.

Aragorn’s hands roamed across Boromir’s chest, stomach and sides of his body. The skin shivered and hairs stood up as the stimulation grew more intense. When both of Aragorn’s hands drifted down near Boromir’s hips, he groaned and raised his hips off the blankets in invitation.

“Not yet, my light.” Crouching over him, Aragorn was able to hold Boromir down while at the same time grinding down against his lover. Gusting out a breath in warning, Aragorn bent down so he could draw at one nipple while his fingers plucked at the other.

“Aragorn, oh… Aragorn.” Boromir’s head tossed and he moaned, but his arms stayed where they were pressed down.

As Aragorn’s mouth and hand changed places, his bearded chin dragged over sensitised skin. Aragorn’s free hand smoothed down over Boromir’s trembling stomach to tease about his navel. “Shhhh… you’re shaking too much.” A predatory smile pulled at Aragorn’s lips. Sitting up, Aragorn climbed off and moved, urging Boromir to sit up so he could slide behind him. “Calm down love, or it will be over before it begins.”

“You’re teasing!” The accusation was softly spoken.

“Yes, I am.” Aragorn yanked his shirt off over his head and threw it aside, wanting to be skin to skin. “And you love it.” A kiss brushed over one shoulder, then Aragorn’s fingers dug in and he began to massage tense muscles. “You mustn’t ever doubt me, love. You mustn’t doubt what you are to me.” Aragorn spoke to the nape of Boromir’s neck, wanting to impress the words right into his skin. “I love you with everything that I am.” His arms snaked around Boromir’s ribs so his hands could rub at his lover’s chest once more. Every breath that Boromir took could be felt by both of them. Heated skin grew scorching hot at the contact. Aragorn scattered kisses over the back of Boromir’s neck and licked at his earlobes.

When Boromir’s trembling became too fierce to contain, Aragorn slowly drew back from him. “Lie down. Soon now, my light.” Petting hands eased the other man flat once more. Drawing back for only a moment, Aragorn stripped off his pants, knowing what the sight of his nude body would do to Boromir. “You’re so beautiful. Let me take care of you. Let me show you what you mean to me. Lay still for me.” Using his hands and mouth, Aragorn pressed down on Boromir, kneading his chest and ribs, teasing his nipples and navel.

Boromir’s hands clenched, gathering up fistfuls of blanket. His breath was rasping in his throat and a constant shiver wracked his body, which was arching unconsciously up toward Aragorn. Any thoughts that might have been tormenting him had fled before the onslaught of pure physical sensation. When a hand cupped over Boromir’s crotch he couldn’t contain the scream that tore out of his throat. “YES! PLEASE!”

Fingers pressed, tracing the outline of Boromir’s hard shaft through the material of his leggings. Aragorn bent down to whisper in his lover’s ear at the same time he rubbed the straining fabric. “Let’s get you out of these before you soil them, love.” Hooking his fingers, Aragorn began easing the leggings down off of Boromir’s hips, slowly baring him to the warm air. “They’re awfully tight for some reason. Will you turn over for me?” Aragorn tugged at the cloth.

Eagerly complying, Boromir twisted. His hands shoved, helping to get the stubborn leggings down. “Take me,” the offer was breathless. Bracing his knees, Boromir offered himself as soon as the cloth was clear of his ankles.

“Not yet.” Aragorn’s tone soothed even as his hands stroked down the inside of Boromir’s legs. Hard calves and smooth thighs shook with anticipation under Aragorn’s fingers, but still his hands simply roamed up and down Boromir’s legs.

“When?” The word is half a sob.

“Not while you’re so tense.” Aragorn’s voice rasped, finally beginning to show the strain. Slowly, Aragorn’s fingers traced over and around Boromir’s behind, digging into the pale skin. The cheeks eased apart and Aragorn’s forefinger dipped in to stoke gently downward.

PLEASE!”

Dusting a kiss across the curve, Aragorn released him. Crawling upward until he could whisper right into Boromir’s ear, Aragorn whispered, “You first. Turn back over, love.”

Groaning, Boromir shifted over, squirming against the blankets. His erection was dark and the tip gleamed in the low light. With a wicked grin, Aragorn attacked Boromir’s chest once again, licking and stroking his nipples and stomach. Boromir whimpered and his shaft throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Hands roamed over Boromir’s stomach and down past the hard shaft to his thighs. Aragorn deliberately avoided touching his lover’s cock, stroking the skin all around it. He let his fingers dip low to stroke the tight skin of Boromir’s balls, smiling at the noise it provoked.

“You smell wonderful.” Aragorn brushed his jaw against straining flesh, tormenting the dripping tip with his whiskered cheek. “Tell me what you want, Boromir.” His lips almost touched skin as he spoke. Aragorn’s blunt fingernails teased through curling blond hair and heated skin. “Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”

“Fuck me,”

“Are you sure that’s what you want, love?” Aragorn’s bottom lip pressed just under the flared tip of Boromir’s shaft, causing a groan of arousal.

“Whatever you want… just do it!”

“No,” the denial in Aragorn’s voice was firm. “What do YOU want?”

“I… I just…” Boromir’s hips rolled. In an almost vicious movement he reached down, caught a handful of dark, silky hair, and tugged. “Get me off, just get me off.”

Nodding, Aragorn reached out and gently grabbed hold of Boromir’s erection to hold it steady. Drips of fluid were spilling over and dripping down. With his thumb, Aragorn rubbed the slickness over and around the head of Boromir’s cock.

“OH YES!” The hand in Aragorn’s hair tightened painfully.

With first his hands, and then his mouth, Aragorn set to worshiping the hard shaft before him. Fingers circled it firmly, stroking up and down. His tongue ran a long stripe from the base to the tip. Flesh grew slick under Aragorn’s attentions and Boromir shuddered.

Aragorn’s gaze lifted. He watched Boromir’s face as his fingers and lips played. Hips bucked and skin burned. The game went on until real strain began to show and Boromir’s pleas grew harsh.

“Just a little longer, my light.” Aragorn whispered, crawling up the body writhing underneath him. He stayed prone long enough to steal a searching kiss from Boromir’s lips, then shoved upright so he was kneeling. Reaching behind himself, one of Aragorn’s dripping hands captured Boromir’s straining erection. It took several painfully long moments to shift and align things but once the position was found, they both knew it.

Boromir hissed, his hands coming up to seize Aragorn’s hips. Aragorn had to move slowly. As slippery as Boromir’s shaft was, his own body was still unprepared for the rare intrusion, and every partial inch had to be taken in with care. Both of them were beaded with sweat and shaking by the time Aragorn settled flush against Boromir’s body.

“Don’t move,” Boromir cautioned in a weak voice. His trembling hand lifted to Aragorn’s semi-hard shaft and began to coax.

With a grunt, Aragorn fell forward. His hands landed on either side of Boromir’s head. Burning blue eyes sought out green. “I… love… YOU.” Each word was bitten off.

Boromir panted, unable to manage words as Aragorn’s body rocked slightly above him. He trembled in reaction, fisting Aragorn’s shaft harder as it grew inside his hand. Words might be beyond reach, but with every bit of willpower he possessed, Boromir tried to hold Aragorn’s burning gaze.

Their bodies twisted and strained for what felt like hours. Only when orgasm finally approached did the stare waver. Aragorn dived down to lock mouths instead of eyes. While their bodies crashed against each other, shuddering into completion, Aragorn devoured Boromir. If he could have sucked Boromir’s soul out from between his lips at that moment, he would have.

The kiss broke reluctantly, allowing them both to gasp for air. Held up by his elbows, Aragorn disentangled his body from Boromir’s with care, before letting himself collapse.

“Never doubt me, love. Doubt the stars in the sky or the progress of the seasons… but never doubt me. I… what I am now… I love… who you are now.” A weary kiss brushed Boromir’s temple. “I love you.”

Sighing, Boromir let his body roll. One arm draped over Aragorn and pulled him tight, careless of sweat or any other mess that might be between them.


Being an odd mixture of traditions from two different cultures, the wedding ceremony was rather longer than either one would be if done alone. Aragorn’s part in the ceremony involved escorting Aeryn and Ranian into the great hall of Meduseld. As an elder of her tribe, Aragorn was the one to pass Aeryn’s hand over to Faramir, who stood as the leader of Éomer’s tribe.

Almost everyone that Aragorn was concerned with were stuck in place for at least another half-hour. Boromir was standing as ceremonial guard. Little Ranian was now seated off to one side with Lothiriel and her ladies. Faramir was just beginning to bind Éomer and Aeryn’s wrists together. It was the best possible moment for Aragorn to fade away from the gathering and tend to other business.

With most of the inhabitants of the Golden Hall concentrating their attentions on the wedding, the further reaches of the sprawling structure were eerily deserted. Stepping carefully to prevent the sound of footsteps from giving him away, Aragorn headed toward the chambers reserved for the royal family. He couldn’t help but frown at realizing he was retracing the exact path that Denethor had taken near on ten years ago, one that ended with the destruction of Boromir’s innocence.

The door to the master suite opened without a sound. It swung inward, revealing a room that was quite unlike the memories that Aragorn had received from Denethor. Of course Éomer had made changes. His last impression of this place would have been just as horrid as Boromir’s. Éomer’s mother had died in this room. It made sense that Éomer would replace the bed especially.

Aragorn started with the bed and worked his way outward, paying extra attention to the temporary wedding decorations. The nightgown that had been laid out for Aeryn had to be tossed into the fireplace. The tingle in his fingers suggested to Aragorn that something vile had been sprinkled over the sheer material. A few candles needed to be moved to prevent fires when they burned down in a few hours. Aragorn also gathered up the open carafe of sweetened wine and the waiting cups. Both were too obviously temptations for tampering.

Toting the carafe and cups, Aragorn let himself out of Éomer’s suite. Although he hadn’t actually visited there before, Aragorn knew where Éowyn’s rooms were. It was only a short walk down the hallway from Éomer’s. Rumour had it that Éowyn had spent very little time in her own suite. Aragorn was surprised that they hadn’t just cut a doorway in the wall they shared.

Éowyn’s sitting-room was deserted. It wasn’t until Aragorn ghosted into her bedroom that he found any sign of life. A rather young servant-girl was sitting on the floor by the empty hearth, arms wrapped around her knees. Éowyn was cross-legged on her bed amid a scattering of parchments and several heavy books. The girl squeaked in surprise, causing Éowyn to look up from her studies.

“I half-expected you to come pounding on my door last night,” Éowyn’s lips pulled into a smirk. “But I suppose taking Boromir to bed and indulging yourself was more amusing than rushing to defend his rather tarnished honour.”

“I’m not here about Boromir.” Aragorn crossed the room and settled himself on the young woman’s bed without any hesitation. “I thought you might be feeling abandoned, perhaps you’d like to share a drink with me.” One of the goblets he’d taken from Éomer’s room was offered up with a smile.

A slow blink preceded Éowyn’s response. “I’m not thirsty, thank you, but do feel free to have a drink yourself.” Almost absently, she began to gather up and stack the loose papers spread over her quilt.

Snatching up the one she was reaching for, Aragorn looked over the spidery writing that covered it. It was a history from the time when the Riddermark was first given to her ancestors by one of the kings of Gondor. Discarding that sheet, Aragorn picked up another. It appeared as if she was researching the oldest laws and customs of the Riddermark, if these were fair examples of her interests.

“It has been suggested…” Aragorn leaned back, letting himself recline on Éowyn’s bed. “… that a third treaty marriage would help things along immensely.” He smiled. “Have you ever heard of Anfalas? It’s a lovely place, very peaceful… quite pastoral. Golasgil, the lord there… he’s looking for a wife for his grandson.”

That got her attention. Éowyn sat up straight, eyes blazing. “Éomer would never allow it!”

Aragorn shrugged. “Not now, perhaps not even within the next year if he were asked, but I can see it happening not long after that… once Aeryn has a child.” His tone was light. “It’s one thing to try and poison Aeryn, but I suspect once the first baby arrives Éomer’s tolerance will grow thin over the sort of games you might be tempted to play with his precious offspring. Golasgil’s grandson is young, only just turned sixteen. He could wait a year or few if need be… if it meant getting the sister of the king, even though you’re currently in a state of disfavour. Faramir might even be willing to formally re-acknowledge you… once you’re on the far side of the empire and he knows that never has to look at you ever again.”

Head shaking, Éowyn scowled at him. “Éomer loves me. There’s nothing that woman you brought here can do to change what’s between Éomer and I. She’s to be a brood mare, nothing more.”

“I was rather looking forward to this next year,” Aragorn said softly. “It would have been quite amusing, the way you would slowly become less and less important as each week progressed. I envisioned you grinding your teeth and pulling at your own hair in frustration as you realized that you were losing your grip on Éomer. I have someone in place who promised to send me descriptions of your frantic attempts to hold onto Éomer’s favour.” The empty cups were tossed aside and Aragorn let the wine fall to the floor and spill out over the gleaming wood. “The same someone who’s been slipping you draughts for the last year to ensure that you wouldn’t conceive Éomer’s child.” Climbing up onto his hands and knees, Aragorn crawled over the bed. “But you’re forcing me to alter my plans, little girl.”

Éowyn, eyes wide, retreated to the headboard, only to find herself trapped in place a moment later. “I’m not afraid of you,” she spouted out the obvious lie. “Anything you do to me… it’s just proof that I’m important… and that you have to deal with me because Boromir and Faramir are both too limp to do it themselves.”

“I could kill you,” Aragorn reached up to finger a tag of blonde hair that had fallen forward into her eyes. “But at this point in time, your murder would complicate things between Éomer and Faramir.” He frowned. “I thought about either ripping out your tongue or blinding you… partially because of how much fun that would be.”

Éowyn’s chest rose as she gathered up the breath to scream.

“Shhh…” Two fingers on her lips forestalled that reaction. “That’s just the sort of thing that has me favouring the idea of silencing you forever. Don’t tempt me, girl, or I’ll have your tongue out before anyone can reach this room.”

She deflated with a small shiver that grew more intense as Aragorn lifted his hand and settled it against her throat.

“As much as it annoys me to admit it… you, my dear Princess, require my attention. As amusing as it would be, waiting to watch you fade away is just too dangerous a policy.” Aragorn pressed gently, carefully monitoring the panic welling up in Éowyn’s features. “I think what would be best for all concerned is if you chose this time to run away from home in a fit of childish temper.” Still holding the pressure steady, waiting for Éowyn to pass out, Aragorn turned his face to look at Éowyn’s terrified serving girl. “Gather together all that your lady might need for a trip of several weeks… quickly now, or your little neck will be the next one I squeeze.”


The formal ceremony was just shifting into a more casual celebration when Aragorn reappeared at Boromir’s side. Sidling up close, he whispered into Boromir’s ear. “We have to leave, my love. Right now,” Aragorn prompted. “We’re not needed here and there’s something I have to tend to.” One hand lifted and Aragorn’s fingers caressed up Boromir’s cheek. “Please, my light. It’s important. We must be away as quickly as possible.”

Boromir couldn’t help but lean into the show of affection, no matter that it drew knowing smiles from the some people nearest to them and a few disapproving frowns from others. “How far ‘away’?” The question was asked in a half-sigh. “Will we be back before Faramir returns to the White City?”

“We won’t be returning to Edoras. We’re going to Anfalas… through the mountains. That’s the quickest path. Must we draw Faramir into the detail of this venture, my only love? I would rather we didn’t.” Aragorn bent close, using his softest, smokiest whisper to entice the response he wanted from Boromir. “Do I need him to write me up a letter of presentation to Golasgil, or do you know Lord Golasgil enough to smooth things over?” Aragorn continued to hold Boromir’s hand, his thumb caressing his lover’s wrist through the soft leather of long gloves.

Standing straighter, Boromir tried to shake off the distracted state of mind that Aragorn’s actions were provoking. “I’ve only met Golasgil twice, rather formally, but his youngest son, Vinyarion, spent two years in father’s personal guard. We’re well acquainted.” He licked his lips, tasting the sweat that was beginning to bead up thanks to Aragorn’s attentions.

“Wonderful.” That information drew a pleased smile from Aragorn. “Come then, love. Let us take our leave of Faramir. We can be miles away before the sun sets if we leave right away.”

Boromir let himself be drawn toward where Éomer and Faramir were standing. A frown was attempting to break out onto his face, but he held it in, not wanting to betray his unease in front of an audience at the sudden need for a long journey.

“My lord king, Prince Éomer…” Aragorn intruded on the pair by simply planting himself right at their side, inclining his head and speaking in a voice so loud that they couldn’t possibly ignore him.

“Aragorn?” Faramir acknowledged him even as Éomer glared and stepped away.

“The Captain of the White Tower and I must depart at once, my king. A situation has arisen that must be dealt with immediately.”

“What situation, my brother?” Faramir, knowing it was useless to press Aragorn for an explanation, addressed the question to Boromir instead.

Narrowed green eyes turned on Aragorn who continued to stare at the floor in a show of obviously feigned respect. The smirk tugging at the corners of Aragorn’s mouth was infuriating. Boromir’s frustration was difficult to contain, but he couldn’t explain to Faramir exactly what was going on. “It’s a matter concerning the security of Gondor, my lord. I will send details later,” Boromir lied, grasping after an explanation that he wouldn’t have to elaborate on. Damn, but Aragorn must have known that Faramir wouldn’t question his brother further after being denied once, and had played on the trust between them.

“Must you leave at once or can it wait until morning, Boromir?” A hint of pleading tinted the request.

Boromir knew how Faramir felt, this wasn’t the kind of parting he wanted from his brother. They didn’t dare express themselves in middle of the hall with the Queen, the court and all the inhabitants of Meduseld watching them. “I am sorry, my lord, but we must depart at once.”

“And when will you be returning to us, Captain?”

“When the matter is resolved,” Boromir evaded again. “I will return to the White Tower as soon as the situation allows, my king.” Each of the titles Boromir chose to employ were used quite purposefully. “I will attempt to be home in time to see your child born, my brother.”

Nodding sadly at the time frame those words had suggested, Faramir reached up to catch Boromir’s shoulder, squeezing hard. “Very well. Please be careful.” Fingers dug in as if meaning to hold Boromir in place forever.

Needing more intimacy than this extremely formal situation allowed, Boromir chose the only show that protocol seemed to allow, even though it was a rather extravagant expression of royal devotion. “My lord!” He dropped to one knee, caught Faramir’s hand and pressed a lingering kiss to it. A combination of their close proximity and the pose nearly caused Boromir’s bend head to press right into Faramir’s crotch.

Understanding the restrictions of having this leaving- taking witnessed by the Queen and court, Faramir’s thumb discreetly brushed Boromir’s lips as his hand withdrew. He felt the flick of a tongue against his skin before his hand was released. Faramir had to swallow to make his voice work properly. “Good journey, Captain.”

The gaze Boromir turned up towards Faramir was laden with affection. “Thank you, my king.” He rose slowly and stepped back.

“If you will excuse us, King Faramir…” Aragorn added a curt nod to the show, before whirling around and quickly pacing out of the hall. Boromir had to move quickly to reach Aragorn’s side before he exited the doors to the great hall.


A woman from the kitchens approached Faramir with a letter of explanation from Aragorn early the next morning. His choice of messengers seemed odd, but Faramir was well enough acquainted with Aragorn’s careful script to judge the missive as genuine.

The news Aragorn conveyed was preceded by a request that Faramir not share the information with Éomer until the time seemed right. Aragorn went on to write that Éowyn had run away from home in a fit of temper and that the bearer of the letter had witnessed Éowyn’s actions. Aragorn announced his intentions to chase Éowyn down but he also presented the defence that she had a head start of several hours and the very finest horses from Edoras’ stables, so he couldn’t promise that the pursuit would be effective.

Tightening his fist on the paper, Faramir looked up at the woman standing before him. “What did you see?”

She shuffled her feet and looked like she wanted to flee from his presence. “Sir?”

“Tell me exactly what you saw Éowyn doing,” Faramir elaborated.

“Oh, sorry sir. I didn’t… well…” The woman smoothed her skirts in what seemed to be a nervous action. “I was out by the stables. I was looking for a bit o’ fresh straw, y’see. There was a frightful spill and straw is just the best thing for sopping up… sorry, your lordship,” a half-hearted curtsy accompanied the apology. “But that’s not of an interest to you, I suppose. Anyway, out tears the Lady Éowyn with her girl in tow… both of them loaded down with gear. She’s complaining, loud as anything, about ‘this’ll show them’ and the two of them go into the stables.” Fingers bunched in fabric again. “Three horses, they took. One each for riding and the third was loaded up.”

Faramir’s brow furrowed. It was a rather unlikely story, knowing Éowyn. His half-sister was more likely to fight than run away when faced with trouble, but this woman told the tale convincingly enough and Faramir couldn’t see any reason she would lie. “And how is it that Aragorn found out what had happened and pulled you into things?”

“I know it ain’t my place, to be tattling on the doings of royalty, but it didn’t seem quite right… the Lady leaving right while everyone was celebrating. Still, I meant to keep it to myself,” she said earnestly. “That was… until I came back in and your majesty’s man saw me. He took one look at my face and just knew something odd was occurring. There was no denying anything to him, your lordship. It was like he was looking right inside of me. So I told him what I’d seen.” The servant grimaced. “Your majesty’s man, he took right off… didn’t come back looking for me in the kitchen for over an hour, then he dragged me into Lady Éowyn’s room. He set me to cleaning up a mess of wine on the floor while he wrote up that note I gave you.”

Faramir folded the paper to keep from crushing it.

“Yer majesty’s man was right particular. He said I wasn’t to bother anyone at the party with this, that I wasn’t to give it to your majesty until morning… and that was only if he didn’t come back and take it from me himself sometime in the night.” She shrugged. “But he didn’t, and the word is that your man’s gone off… so I brought it up, just like he told me to.”

Nodding, Faramir held up his hand for silence. “You will need to repeat all of this for Prince Éomer, but not yet.” He studied Aragorn’s messenger carefully for a long moment, wondering if she was telling him the truth. It seemed improbable that Aragorn could have recruited a member of Éomer’s staff into his own service on such short notice, but it wasn’t impossible.

“If that’ll be all then, your majesty, I’ve work in the kitchen to tend to.”

“Yes. Thank you.” As soon as she was gone, Faramir paced back over to the bed and settled on the edge of the mattress.

Lothiriel, who had been quiet through the entire interview shifted so she could lay a hand on his arm. “It’s a plausible tale, and likely the best thing to happen for all concerned.”

Turning, Faramir gazed at his wife. “So you think she’s lying too?”

A cascade of golden ringlets tumbled sideways as Lothiriel tipped her head. “Quite likely, but so long as Éomer believes that YOU are innocent of any mischief toward his sister, it hardly matters what Aragorn has done.” She met Faramir’s gaze. “It is for the purpose of situations like this one that you retain Aragorn’s services, is it not?”

Faramir’s only response was a fleeting smile. There were definite advantages to having a wife who had been raised in a court almost as large as Minas Tirith’s and trained from birth as a possible royal bride.

“Boromir will tell you everything when they come home,” Lothiriel soothed. “In the meantime, all our efforts must be put towards seeing that Éomer is content with the story as we know it and distracted from the loss of his sister by Aeryn’s presence.”

Letting out a sigh, Faramir turned to brush a kiss over Lothiriel’s forehead. “Thank you, my lady.” His thumb caressed her cheek. “You have proven to be a wondrous treasure over the last year. I hope you realize that.”

Her smile broke like dawn at the compliment. “Your praise is ever welcome, my lord. Now, if you’re prepared to face the day… you and I should see if Éomer and Aeryn will be leaving their chambers today… for I would very much like to indulge in a few silly romantic frivolities while time allows.”

Faramir heard the unspoken ‘while Boromir is away from your side’ in his wife’s tone, but if Lothiriel wasn’t going to press the issue, neither would he.

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

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