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The Secret Widower (NC-17) Print

Written by Nissi

06 September 2006 | 17983 words

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Pairing: Boromir/Faramir
Summary: Story synopsis: My take on the both the beginning of Boromir’s & Faramir’s unusual relationship, and where that relationship ultimately went. Quite a bit of romantic ramblings, drama (mayhap even melodrama!), explicit sexual content, and angst.
Feedback: nissi@hushmail.com
Disclaimer: Any references to works of Tolkien are property of the Tolkien estate and New Line Cinema. This work is not for profit.

Author’s Note: This story is an odd amalgamation of early, unpublished writings and themes taken from my massive, published Sean Bean / David Wenham fics. In essence, I challenged myself to pull vignettes from the bulk of both and rework them within the context of Middle Earth, and the relationship I perceive between Boromir and Faramir. Inspiration was obviously drawn from the films and the books, but I have changed and added details here and there. If you are familiar with my published writings, then some parts of this story will ring a bell. If you’re not, I hope you’ll consider reading my RPS stories to discover the commonalities! Either way, I hope you enjoy. ~Nissi


Chapter 1: The Warrior Returns

Boromir blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the library. He knew precisely where to hunt for his quarry. His brother’s whereabouts in the labyrinth of tomes and scrolls were never a mystery.

For a time he stood in the archway observing as Faramir sat reading a dusty book, looking positively enthralled. The room was lit by the flickering flames of a roaring fire, which cast a red glow upon his ginger hair. His lightly-bearded face was a portrait of concentration as his blue eyes scanned line upon line. He looked perfectly at home.

Boromir hadn’t much taste for the scholarly pursuits that so thrilled his little brother. But watching Faramir in his element, Boromir was struck just how wasted the younger man’s intellect and imagination were in the pursuit of war. At least their father had finally deemed Faramir worthy of command, and bestowed upon him title of Captain. With a company of men at his call, Faramir would have opportunity to strategize. The unfortunate flip side of that coin was that he would be scrutinized to a greater degree—and the scrutiny of Denethor never ended well for Boromir’s little brother. Many years had passed since their father’s contempt for his second son was made clear.

After a considerable time lost in his thoughts, Boromir spoke. “When was it you stopped dining in the great hall, as befits the son of the Steward?”

Faramir jumped in his chair as his attention was snapped sharply back to reality. His face shifted from surprise to excitement at the sight of his beloved brother. He leapt to his feet and threw his arms around Boromir in a mutually loving embrace. “Boromir! You’ve returned early,” he exclaimed happily. Although he was nearly thirty, the comfort he felt whenever he was near his elder brother never faded. Boromir was his solace, his rock, his protector, and his only source of love.

“We drove the orc marauders back sooner than anticipated. It is good to be home. Chiefly, it is good to see you,” Boromir smiled as they released each other.

“I scarcely need to say how pleased I am to see you, in return,” Faramir enthused.

“But…I was serious in my question, little brother. When did you stop dining with father?” Boromir pressed the issue.

Faramir shrugged. “When you left, perhaps. A month, maybe more.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Father never once questioned my absence. I doubt he even notices.”

Boromir frowned. “You are a Captain now, little one. You should be present with the Steward and the Council whenever opportunity arises.”

“I know,” Faramir sighed, his shoulders slumping. After a moment’s thought, he brightened. “Now that you have returned, I will be happy to dine in the great hall once more.”

Boromir patted Faramir’s arm. “Captain Faramir,” he said slowly. “Congratulations; it is long overdue.”

Faramir smiled shyly. “You have never lacked faith in me, my brother. Your belief in me gives me strength.”

Boromir shook his head slowly. “Strength is already in you. It is a crime that father does not acknowledge it, but I see it. I always have. I will always believe in you, Faramir.”

“And I in you, Boromir,” Faramir responded.

Boromir smiled warmly. “Now then,” he began. “Have you actually eaten tonight, or have you been too long lost in your studies? What is it…” he eyed the discarded book. “Elvish? Poetry? History?”

“In answer to your first question, I have not. In answer to your second, it is Elvish epic poetry,” Faramir replied.

“Elvish, poetry, and history at once! I’m impressed,” Boromir grinned. “But you cannot go without sustenance. Come, I will have food brought to your quarters.”

Faramir nodded, obediently following his older brother out of the library and through the darkened streets of Minas Tirith. As they traveled they spoke of Boromir’s adventures abroad, and of events that had occurred in the White City during his absence. The younger man strode proudly beside his brother, never failing to notice the attention Boromir was paid—whether outright in the form of excited greetings, or subdued in the form of admiring glances. Boromir was Gondor’s champion and Faramir’s heart swelled to see how much he was appreciated.

As they reached Faramir’s chamber Boromir steered the subject of their conversation towards the future. “I will be leaving the day after tomorrow,” he ventured.

Faramir stopped in his tracks. Boromir turned to face him, watching as Faramir’s posture crumpled. He was crestfallen. “So soon! No time for us to spend together…Boromir…I hate it when you must leave. I want nothing more than to enjoy your company in peace. Father seems bound and determined to prevent this…”

Boromir raised his hand to hush his brother. “Let me finish. I will be leaving the day after tomorrow…with you. Father has acquiesced to my request for a holiday in the wild, and to bring you with me.” He smiled broadly.

Faramir was dumbfounded. Finally he spoke, “An excursion together?” His voice bore a mixture of glee and disbelief.

“I know how much you love to wander Ithilien. For too long your visits to our eastern territories have been in a soldiering capacity, requiring vigilance and providing no time for simple enjoyment. Your thirtieth birthday approaches quickly. As celebration, we will go together into Ithilien and roam freely. The rangers assigned as part of my company on my recent errand secured most of northern Ithilien along the Anduin; we should encounter no danger there,” Boromir explained.

“Brother, I hardly know what to say. Thank you…” Faramir’s countenance radiated gratefulness.

“We’re lucky that I returned victorious,” Boromir grinned. “Father’s pleasure, plus quite a bit of wine, made him remarkably agreeable.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Faramir protested with a smile. “My dear brother, the gem of Gondor, never returns defeated.” Although clearly proud, shadows swirled within the younger man’s mind. His brother was a mighty man. Faramir’s newfound position would put him to similar tests. The threat of failure was nearly crippling.

Boromir rested his hand on Faramir’s shoulder. “You shall know victory, Faramir, and much of it. I cannot deny that these are perilous times, and I suspect your skills as a leader and a warrior will be put to strenuous tests. But you will prevail, little one. I feel it in my bones.”

Faramir’s eyes glimmered, reflecting pale moonlight. “For now, let us enjoy the respite we’ll have in Ithilien.” He moved towards his door, a definite bounce to his steps.

Boromir grinned at his enthusiasm. “Alright, little brother. I’ll have food sent…”

Faramir cut him off, looking up at his older brother from the doorway of his room. “Boromir…” He licked his lips, clearly nervous about the words he was about to say. “Will you stay tonight? Like we used to do?”

Boromir tilted his head curiously and considered. When they were younger, Boromir would come to Faramir’s chamber every night at the same time, when he was sure his younger brother would be suffering his recurring nightmares. The death of their mother Finduilas played heavily on the five-year-old Faramir’s psyche. Boromir was dearly protective and soothing. He was only a child himself, a tender ten years of age, but he dealt with his own grief by helping Faramir through his.

They had shared the same bed that way, surreptitiously, for many years. Boromir would always leave before dawn, since the discovery of Faramir’s need for his brother’s presence at night would cast a poor light on the younger son. Boromir never wanted to give their father any undue ammunition to strengthen his distaste for Faramir.

As they aged, their shared nights had become less and less frequent. Faramir’s need of his brother had never lessened, but they knew that it was inappropriate for two adult men to behave in such a way, however innocent the act. He had not asked Boromir to stay with him in a decade.

Boromir liked the idea of remaining with his brother. He would enjoy the warmth of Faramir’s bed, as the autumn night was cold. His brother’s body heat was always a welcomed addition to his rest. Furthermore, he knew he’d enjoy holding his brother as he used to do. Even as men in their thirties, they could think of no purer or effective way to share support, love, and security.

He worried momentarily that if he should stay, someone would find them in the morning—a bustling chambermaid or a dutiful guard—and that the discovery would have the long-feared effect. Faramir would bear the brunt of Denethor’s disgust, and a likely punishment would be to separate the brothers for terribly long spans of time.

Although never explicitly expressed, Boromir was Faramir’s entire world, emotionally—he had no love from his father, his mother was dead, and there were no romantic partners in his life. He had only Boromir to give him the affection and courage he needed.

For Boromir’s part, Faramir was the focus of all of his grueling hours in the field. When he killed an orc in the heat of battle he thought of Faramir, and how he was fighting to keep the land safe for his beloved brother. Faramir was also the target of his emotional needs—he went to Faramir when he sought reassurance, as his little brother was the only person in Arda he trusted enough to show vulnerability. He went to Faramir for love when their father had been cold and he desired nurturing.

Being apart was torture for both men. It was all-too-frequent an occurrence that Boromir should be out with his men defending the borders of Gondor while Faramir stayed at the White City or ventured with his rangers into Ithilien, stalking orcs who were foolish enough to loiter in the hills. The idea that Denethor might separate them even further, with the intent of severing their ties, was terrifying.

Boromir weighed the pro’s and con’s. He glanced up and caught sight of his brother’s shimmering blue eyes. They locked gazes, and Boromir knew he was lost; he could never resist Faramir’s eyes. He nodded slowly. “I will stay with you, Faramir. Just as we used to do.”

Faramir looked very much like a little boy as he bounded happily into his room. He could not remember a time when he felt so light on his feet, so filled with joyous anticipation.

His brother made good on his promise and arranged for a light meal to be delivered to them. He watched his brother eat with gusto, celebrating Boromir’s triumphant return with shared wine and boisterous conversation. The room echoed with the sounds of their laughter, quieting only when it was time for sleep.

They rested more peacefully than either had rested alone in a long time, clad in billowing tunics and loosened breeches, with Faramir’s back against Boromir’s chest. As children, the awkward difference in growth states had always made such cuddling imperfect. As grown men, the curves of their bodies fitted flawlessly. Boromir mused silently on the tight locking of their figures as his little brother’s breathing evened and his body went limp with restfulness. The slender Faramir felt familiar and comforting, and yet a curious awareness spread through the older man. There was something of a special allure to lying with his brother.

His tired mind tried to process the thought, but he was overwhelmed with exhaustion. He could think later. In that moment, he was utterly content. He was with the one person who truly loved him, unconditionally. The one person who made him purely happy. He was beside Faramir, and he was home.

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

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Nissi

For more of her work, see Mirrormere

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