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Warriors of Gondor (NC-17) Print

Written by Hel

14 May 2012 | 182144 words | Work in Progress

Part 31: RIVENDELL

Boromir had found a pleasant sunny spot in the extensive gardens to sit and relax, as Aragorn had ordered him to. The older man had left to meet with the scouts and rangers as his foster father had bid him. Legolas hadn’t been in the rooms they now shared when he’d returned that morning, so he decided to spend the day in idle contemplation. At least until lunch when he was sure he could find a worthy opponent to spar with. It wouldn’t be disobeying, really, since he was at his most relaxed when he held a sword in his hand. Boromir was also interested in getting to know the hobbits better, especially since he would probably be traveling with them soon.

As he thought about the halflings, he became aware that two of them, Merry and Pippin, were moving across the small glade in front of him. Almost as hard to see as a hiding game bird, they seemed intent on an elf tending a flowering bush not far away. Then Pippin turned his gaze to Boromir and winked. He watched them as they walked silently through the grass until they were directly behind the unsuspecting gardener.

“What’re ya’ doing?” asked Pippin, his face a picture of innocence.

The startled elf leapt straight up into the air and landed in an undignified heap at their feet. He glared up at the two rascals, before rising to his feet in a graceful movement. “Didn’t Lord Elrond tell you to stop sneaking up on people?” he snapped.

“Oh, we weren’t sneaking,” Merry replied. “Lord Boromir could tell you, he saw us plain as day.”

“And everyone knows that men aren’t nearly as sensitive as elves,” Pippin put in, his face completely guileless. “At least as far detectin’ things,” he added, as if just now seeing the double meaning of his words.

The unfortunate elf gave Boromir a dark glare before huffing loudly and stomping off. He’d never suspected that an elf would huff or stomp, let alone be surprised by two childlike halflings. Unable to help himself, Boromir burst into laughter.

“You shouldn’t laugh at the gardener,” Merry told him as they approached. “We’ve been told that they aren’t here for our enjoyment.”

“Yes, twice by Elrond and once by Gandalf,” Pippin added, sitting in the grass next to Boromir.

“I’ll bet you have,” he said still chuckling. “Maybe the gardener earned your attentions.”

“Oh, he’s a fine smart fellow, he is,” agreed Pippin. “Why, our very first day here, he gave us a very informative lecture.”

“Yes, indeed,” confirmed Merry. “He told us we were to be careful not to harm his plants, us being so young and ignorant.”

“Aye, if he hadn’t wised us up, we might never have made the connection that this garden has plants in it, just like our own at home.”

“Sounds like he’s a bit puffed up,” Boromir commented.

“We have found that there are some very important elves here. We might have missed them, but they were kind enough to let us know,” said Merry.

“We keep trying to show them how much we appreciate their superiorness, but they just don’t seem to understand,” was Pippin’s comment.

“I hope I don’t have the same problem with them,” Boromir said. “I’m not sure I could be as patient as you two.”

“I don’t think that they will hold you in the same regard as they do us,” Merry commented, looking at the large man who, even in the elaborately decorated tunic and pants the elves had given him, looked very dangerous.

“After all, everyone knows that we are a young race and not given much to seriousness,” Pippin added.

“I would have thought that those of the Eldar race would have learned better than to judge by appearances and rumor,” Boromir said.

The two hobbits exchanged a pleased look before turning back to the man. “According to the maps Bilbo has showed us, Gondor is quite close to Mordor.” Merry changed the subject, knowing that it was quite possible that other ears were listening to their conversation and wanting to avoid any further lectures from the wizard or the Lord of the Valley.

“Too close,” Boromir answered. “I have been fighting the forces of Mordor and their allies most of my life. My people have been at war with them since before I was born.”

“We’ve never been to war,” said Pippin.

“It wasn’t until we set out with Frodo that we ever even held a sword,” added Merry. “Not that they did us much good against those nasty Nazgûls. If it wasn’t for Strider, they would have got us for sure at the inn.”

“Or at Weathertop, where they stabbed Frodo,” continued Pippin.

Boromir had heard only bits and pieces of the hobbits’ journey to Rivendell. Though he knew Frodo had been injured, he hadn’t known how. “Tell me of this trek of yours,” he said. “It sounds very brave.”

The two hobbits told him in great detail, with many half-hearted complaints about missed meals, of their adventures. What they told him coincided with what he’d already heard, and he realized there was very little exaggeration in their tale. Of course, it needed none.

Pippin told of the eerie journey he had made with Frodo and Sam from Bag End to the Ferry at Bucklebury where they’d been met by Merry and taken their rest at the house at Crickhollow. Both hobbits told of the frightening adventures in the Old Forest where they were almost eaten by the trees and rescued by Tom Bombadil and treated to the great hospitality of his Lady Goldberry. Then they shared the tale of how they’d been lost on Barrow-Downs and almost taken by a Barrow-wight and again rescued by Tom. Eagerly, they each showed him the Westernese blades Tom had given them from the barrow.

Boromir was quite impressed with their tale and listened avidly to the rest as they shared the food they were carrying in their pockets with him. He knew that storytelling was something they did regularly as they recounted vivid descriptions of the village of Bree, the meeting with Strider and the narrow escape from the black riders. Though their journey was easier once Strider became their guide, it was only shortly thereafter that Frodo was wounded and the rest of the distance to Rivendell had become a true nightmare as they feared so greatly for their cousin’s life. It was only because of Glorfindel and his horse Asfaloth that Frodo was able to cross the Bruinen to safety ahead of the dark riders. There the magic of Elrond had washed all of the Nazgûl away in a great rising of the water and they hadn’t been seen since.

“I am glad to know such brave fellows,” Boromir told them. His estimation of the hobbits and Aragorn had risen greatly.

“We still need to learn how to use our swords,” said Merry.

“What I can teach you, I will,” Boromir offered.

“Splendid!” Pippin cried, leaping to his feet. Then he paused, his hand going to his stomach. “Would you mind terribly if we wait ‘til after lunch?”

A long morning of endless meetings turned into a long afternoon of interminable conferences. None of them required his presence and he couldn’t understand why his father had insisted on him being there. The unseasonable warmth of the day, aided by the incessant rains, added to his boredom and the irregular sleep he’d been getting since Boromir’s departure had him only half aware of the subject under discussion. Faramir’s eyes glazed over with thoughts of his brother and what wonders he must be seeing in the lands of the elves. The great archives beneath the city held numerous paintings, drawings and descriptions of Imladris and the other elven realms. He imagined Boromir exploring the graceful architecture and seducing the many elves that inhabited the exotic halls.

There was no doubt in his mind that his brother would be a favorite among the Eldar race. He had yet to meet anyone not entirely tainted by the Dark Lord that could refuse the charms of Boromir’s golden tongue and masculine beauty. There would be Dwarves as well as men from other lands, and the halfling of their vision, maybe more than one. A smile curled his lips as he thought of the concise and detailed report he would receive. Most likely while being reintroduced to the tender affections of his most beloved brother. And the King, the King would probably be with him.

“What are you grinning like a fool over, Faramir?” Denethor’s voice cut across his musings. “Didn’t you hear how much was lost when the Pelennor was burned? A good fourth of the northern fields hadn’t been harvested yet!” He exclaimed angrily.

“It was excess grain, father,” Faramir responded, trying not to be condescending and not quite succeeding. “It would have been more than it was worth to finish the harvest and then transport it all west. Our resources were better engaged moving people and weapons into their strategic positions.”

“So every croft and holding has been filled?” the Steward asked in disbelief.

“The last wagons are headed to Nimrais, my Lord Steward,” Faramir told him, not informing his father of the wide stretch of land west of the Anduin and south of the Entwash that had been evacuated of all but military forces. Suppressing a sigh, he gazed down the long table, looking to see who had brought this point up. It had been discussed so many times already that he found it almost unbelievable that it was being raised again. From the expression on Borril’s face, where he sat next to the Steward, Faramir knew it was part of one of the many plots that had been surfacing to try to undermine his position. “Everything is going exactly to plan as we laid it out last spring before Boromir left. The only changes have been the abundant harvest and the early rains. If we had worked any longer on the fields, we would have been mired in mud. All of Gondor is endeavoring to secure the safety of the kingdom and we are in a better position than we had hoped for.”

He paused to let his words sink in a little. “Provision has been made for all those were not able to harvest their crops. We are at war and, as we saw last summer, the enemy has forces we have little defense against. Fortunately, most of them will be incapacitated until the rains stop, which we know will happen sometime in February.” He sighed heavily as he thought of the outposts he’d rather be inspecting.

“Maybe your time would be better filled if you were back in the field, my Lord,” Borril said with just enough unctuousness in his voice to make it sound like he wanted nothing more. “With the detailed plans that have been drawn up, I’m sure that we can handle everything here in the city.”

“Yes, that might be best,” Denethor said, feeling that his son’s absence would give him more control and more time to sway Borril to his wishes. “After all, you are the acting Captain General until Boromir returns.”

With another heavy sigh, Faramir didn’t attempt to hide the relief he felt. “I can be ready to leave at first light,” he said. “It has been too long since I’ve seen firsthand how our troops are holding up.”

Mordel could barely hide his elation at the news of Faramir’s imminent departure. He’d had to concentrate all his efforts on concealing his own actions from the far-too-observant man. Now he could advance several projects almost unwatched, some of which dealt with removing the Steward’s youngest son permanently.


A light sprinkle of snow melted immediately upon contact with the stone of the courtyard. Éowyn felt the pull of the broad steppes of the Riddermark in the chill wind, which accompanied the unseasonable cold. This was the farthest she’d been from Meduseld in months, yet she was still well within the confines of the walled city. At least she’d been allowed to greet the small group of Rohirrim who had brought her gifts from the east. She was actually quite surprised that she’d even been permitted to receive the gifts at all considering who and where they came from. As she watched the dark woman carrying a large satchel dismount from riding behind a shieldmaiden, she couldn’t hide her grin. There weren’t many people of this coloring in Gondor and even fewer who would be coming directly from Faramir.

“Your Highness,” the woman addressed her, bowing deeply. “I am Saphron of the House of Hurin. My Lord Faramir sent me to be of aid and comfort to you in these dark times.”

“Welcome Saphron,” Éowyn said with heartfelt geniality, recalling the tales Brinel had told her of this woman. “I am grateful that he saw fit to gift me with one of the treasures of his house.”

“You are overgenerous with your praise, your Highness,” Saphron replied, blushing at her words. “It is I who am blessed to be allowed to attend the ‘Jewel of Rohan’. I grew as impatient as my lord to meet you and now I see that the stories of your beauty pale to the reality.”

Éowyn couldn’t help the peal of laughter that escaped her at these words. Despite the numerous compliments she received on a daily basis, she had never thought of herself as a beauty. “Be careful with your compliments, you will swell my head. Come,” she said, throwing her arm over the other woman’s shoulders in comradeship. “Let me show you to my room and where you will be staying so that we can get to know each other.”


The sound of his Princess’s laughter went straight to his heart as he watched from his hidden vantage point.

“The woman she is talking to is the one I was telling you about, my Lord Gríma,” the informant whispered into his ear. “They say she is a witch of great power and that she uses ink to enspell all those who oppose her lords.”

A smile crossed Gríma’s lips as the women walked away toward the Keep. He knew far more about the Princess’s new retainer than the man next to him. Not only had he received many reports over the years from his own sources in Gondor, but also, he’d managed to intercept the messenger carrying Galmar’s journals all those years ago. He’d never forwarded them on to Saruman, knowing that the more knowledge he kept to himself, the better his chance of survival.
And now things had changed.

“I’m sure you’re anxious for me to reward you for your efforts,” Gríma told the man as they took a winding path back to Meduseld.

“I have been looking forward to being here in the city permanently, my Lord,” the man agreed.

“Well come along, I’ll introduce you to the captain of my guard,” Gríma said with a smile. “Do you have any proof of this woman’s position in Minas Tirith, anything I can send along to our employer?”

“I wasn’t able to get much, my Lord,” the informant said with regret. “Everything is here in my saddlebags.” He patted them where they hung from his shoulder.

“I will need to see it all.” As they entered the barracks room near the back of the Keep, the slightest of hand signals alerted his men to what he wanted. It took only moments for the guards seated at the door to have the man pinned on his knees a rough hand over his mouth to keep him from crying out. Another quick signal had one guard bringing a sharp knife across his throat. Retrieving the saddlebags from the new corpse, Gríma turned to address his captain. “Let this be a warning to all that it doesn’t pay to seek to rise too quickly. I will not tolerate insubordination.” With a cruel grin, he left, knowing that no further orders were necessary to see that the body would be properly disposed of.

Knowing that he had just made the game he played that much more dangerous, Gríma smiled as he returned to his rooms. He would burn everything after he read it, committing it all to memory as he’d been trained. It was possible that the man had set up contingency plans and that copies would be forwarded along to his master in the tower of Isengard, not that he felt the informant was that smart. If such occurred, Saruman’s wrath could be fatal – or worse. Still, a part of him that had chided and pricked at his mission in Rohan since the confrontation in the baths, rejoiced that his Princess was just a little safer. Maybe, if the fates were kind, she would find some solace in the care of her new companion.


A warm breeze came in from the balcony off Legolas’s bedroom. He’d been told that magic kept the valley of Imladris warmer than the surrounding mountains. Boromir thought that the many hot springs might have a good deal to do with it as well. In the past week, he’d recovered much of his strength but was admittedly still below his usual health. He’d gotten to know the Hobbits quite well and though they’d acquitted themselves well in the sword lessons, he still couldn’t think of them as anything other than children. Pippin didn’t mind much, having a couple of years to go before he reached the accepted Hobbit age of majority. Merry, however, would sometimes be a bit annoyed and other times amused at Boromir’s difficulty in adjusting to them. He’d gotten to know some of the Dwarves as well, despite their obvious dislike of Legolas, who was almost constantly at his side.

It was beautiful here and Boromir had many congenial companions. But he wanted to go home. He stirred restlessly, thinking that maybe he should get up and wander the halls rather than wake the others.

“Where are you going?” Legolas asked as he made to sit up.

“I can’t sleep,” Boromir told him.

“I know how it is to miss your home,” the elf whispered, pulling the man closer. Reaching behind himself, he nudged Saelbeth awake. “Cousin, use your magic voice to sing Boromir to sleep.”

The dozing elf stirred and looked to the blue eyes that had long led him into trouble. He could never resist. Scooting up the bed and waking the two elf maidens that had fallen asleep with him, he leaned against the headboard and started a lullaby. It was an old Sylvan song he’d learned from his mother. The women joined him, their voices blending with his and sending all who heard them into the land of dreams and reverie.


The bed he shared with his brother was before him, a figure lying in the shadows at its center. Boromir stepped closer, peering through the darkness in an attempt to see who it was. Singing he couldn’t quite make out carried him forward. The man in the bed turned, and by his very movement, Boromir recognized his heart’s desire. The blue eyes pierced the darkness and called him forward, the bright welcoming smile drove out all thought of anything else.

“You’ve come back to me,” Faramir’s voice caressed his ears as he reached for him.

“Always,” Boromir whispered before claiming his brother’s lips. He melted into his beloved’s welcoming body, unable to stop the tears that fell from his eyes. He wanted to say more, but couldn’t force himself to move far enough away from the embrace to speak. Their hands roamed each other, relearning every detail.

The hard muscled body beneath him was all that he remembered and more. Finally he was able to break the kiss, but only to run his lips across a stubbled cheek and taste the sweet tears of his most beloved. Grabbing a tender earlobe between his teeth, he sucked it into his mouth, reveling in the soft gasp that blessed his ears. There was the scent of the incense that burned to keep the wards going and Faramir’s own smell, so special, burned into his memory. He knew he was home again, in the place he most wanted to be.

“Please,” Faramir gasped as he arched and grasped at Boromir’s shoulders. Impatient as always. “I need you, my brother.”

“Yes,” Boromir groaned into the neck that was bared to his lips and teeth. For this time, he would give all that his love demanded. His arms slid down the writhing form below him, taking a firm grip on the strong buttocks and positioning them to receive his more than ready cock. He thrust forward, embedding himself completely into the hot, waiting channel. There could be nothing in all the worlds of men and elves to equal this pleasure. So tight and welcoming, so very much his own, it called him to lose every bit of control that held him back.

Sliding his hands to push his brother’s legs up so that his thighs lay tightly against his chest, Boromir began to thrust hard into the body beneath him. There was no tenderness now, only the unrelenting need to rejoin what had been parted for too long. It was brutal and blessed to both of them, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing through the room. Faramir’s hands reached to pull his brother’s hips in an even faster, harder rhythm.

They became locked in time, in an endless embrace that would end all too soon. Their harsh breath brushed each other’s faces as they panted out their desire and lust. Pushing, pushing until there was no more holding back. At the peak of time they cried out their completion, leaving both to collapse in total bliss.

Only moments later, Faramir rolled to his side pulling Boromir into a tight embrace. “Come, my brother,” he whispered, urging Boromir closer. “Let us not waste what little time we have.”

Boromir leaned against his brother’s chest, running his fingers through sweat dampened hair. His other hand stroked the lean body, feeling the muscles work beneath the skin, as Faramir returned his caresses. They began a rhythm old to them, begun before there was anything more than innocence in their touch. Their foreheads pressed tightly together, they touched each other affirming their wholeness, whispering sweet endearments. More than lust stirred them bringing an ache to their limbs as they submerged themselves in the love that had bound them all their lives. Tender, as the first time he held his newborn brother in his arms, Boromir embraced him.

Stilling, they looked deeply into each other’s eyes before allowing them to fall closed as they entered another kiss. With painfully slow movements, they continued pressing their bodies close together. Aligning their hard cocks with a slight twist of hips, rubbing rough scarred skin against rough scarred skin, they immersed themselves in the feel of their close contact.

Despite the leisurely pace of their movements, they began to pant, short hard breaths of arousal surging through them. Long sweeps of flesh against flesh and Boromir broke the kiss to bury his face in his brother’s neck. Both arms went around the younger man’s body so he could pull him closer to his own. He slowed them even more so that they were gently rocking into each other.

Faramir’s hands fluttered down his brother’s back at the change of pace, wanting more, faster, now. Then he surrendered to the strong grasp and wrapped his own arms around Boromir, running his hands up the hard body until they were entangled in his hair. His mouth opened wide as Faramir felt his brother’s lips and tongue at his throat and he couldn’t hold back the moan that came from the very depths of his soul.

“My love, my treasure,” Boromir whispered into Faramir’s flesh. “I desire only to return to you, to be with you where I belong.” He slid a leg across his brother’s thigh, pulling them just a bit closer while slightly increasing the speed of their movements.

“I await you, my beloved brother,” Faramir cried out, lost in the ecstasy of their contact.

Their pace steadily increased, their movements harder as they lost the ability to hold back. This was what they had been missing in all those long lonely months of separation. There was nothing that could replace it, no one who could substitute for the other. All nights had seemed dark and cold since their parting, no matter the company. They could feel the difference held so closely in one another’s arms.

Sliding his left hand down to grasp his brother’s buttock, Boromir thrust his profusely leaking cock into Faramir’s. They drove against each other with greater urgency, Faramir matching his brother’s movements with his own. As they neared the peak, Boromir ran his right hand across Faramir’s back until it covered the warmer flesh that lay beneath the King’s seal. As Faramir copied his motion, they both felt the blinding pleasure of their release, Faramir sinking his teeth into his brother’s collarbone. They were engulfed in white light, separating them from the physical, though it was still there at the edge of their awareness. They had reached that place where they were whole, truly one, lost in the bliss of true joining.

It lasted only moments, or was it centuries, before sliding back into their bodies so far away. Sleep grasped them, pulling them under before the pain of parting could fill them. Boromir’s last conscious thought came from his brother’s mental translation of a line in the elvish song that barely registered in his ears.

“And our love shall bind us here forever.”

With the last ounce of his energy, Boromir pressed a kiss to Faramir’s brow. A smile graced his lips as he sank into his most peaceful sleep since leaving home.


Legolas gazed up at his cousin with lust and shock-glazed eyes from where he lay beneath the now peacefully sleeping Gondorian. He licked the blood from his lips and tentatively wiped at the deep wound Boromir now bore. In all his long centuries of life, he’d never experienced anything like this. He wondered if even Galadriel of Lórien had ever felt its equal with all her powers of mind speaking. But even as he parted his lips to question Saelbeth on what magic he had woven, exhaustion claimed him and pulled him into his own deep slumber.

The younger elf looked to his two singing companions who returned equally mystified looks. It was old Sylvan magic to call forth dreams and all three were well versed in its use, but none had ever encountered or even heard of such a thing before. They had all seen Legolas’s visage disappear beneath the vision of a man whom they assumed to be Boromir’s brother. The following scene had been so thoroughly erotic and enthralling that they would have stopped to watch, but some unseen forced had compelled them to finish their song.

They shifted restlessly for a few moments, considering leaving to find a less disconcerting place to sleep. Before they could come to any decision, they too succumbed to an overwhelming lethargy.


Mablung looked across the threshold to his fellow manciple. They’d both witnessed their lord’s dreams that he shared with his brother, but this was the first they knew of where Boromir actually manifested over the one who lay in Faramir’s embrace. It disappointed and relieved them when the dream faded away and their lord was left sleeping more peacefully than they’d seen in months in the stunned embrace of the ranger who lay beside him. The three men exchanged one more astounded look before the two at the door returned to their job of guard duty. The man in the bed pressed a kiss to Faramir’s forehead, ignoring the bloody wound on his own neck, then snuggling closer and joining him in his rest.


Sitting up abruptly from where he lay sleeping in the night’s cold camp, Aragorn looked around for the cry that had woken him. There was no echoing sound in the surrounding mountains, even though it still rang through his head. Looking down, he noticed where his pants were damp and becoming wetter from the release he hadn’t expected. It had been decades since he’d lost such control in the wilds where it was dangerous to add to his already too strong scent. It would do his errand no good if he were caught out by the betraying musk of sex.

Rising and rinsing himself and his pants in a nearby stream, he ignored the cold in favor of muting the sharp tang of cum. He chose to break camp, saddling his horse with practiced ease even though it was much too dark to see clearly. If what he suspected were true, then the cause for his untimely lack of control lay at his journey’s end, in Rivendell. It was past time he returned with his reports and to discover what had brought about such a startling event.

Soon they would be venturing south into lands dangerous and wild. Much of it held under the sway of the enemy. All would fall to ruin if their presence was betrayed by a slip such as had occurred this night.

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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16 Comment(s)

so good. more please

— cakresvari    Tuesday 11 July 2006, 9:53    #

So fabulous to see an update! Wonderful, as always.

— stillwell    Wednesday 20 September 2006, 22:44    #

Yea!! More updates soon please. I love it and can’t wait for more interaction between Aragorn and Boromir, and I assume Aragorn and Faramir in the future.

— cakresvari    Sunday 24 September 2006, 9:59    #

When I found this story few months ago I belived that it would never be finished. Which I thought was a pity cause it gripped me as not many stories did. I am extatic to see a new part. Welcome back!

— maeglina    Sunday 24 September 2006, 18:38    #

OMG I love this story!!!! I first read it at the Library of Moria and it is so friggen’ AWESOME!!!! It reminds me vaguely of Jacqueline Carey’s Kushiel’s series, which were very good books.
So Please I beg of you UPDATE!!!! My god this is so COOL!!!! I love all of it, after I read this story it was hard for me to get into other stories of this pairing just because none of them hit me like this one did. This story just has so much going on, it’s so cool, so please don’t abandon it!!! I’m given’ ya HUGE puppy dog eyes and offering lots of nakey Fara/Boro sexy cookies in return. ;^; Update Please!!!

— mokona    Thursday 6 September 2007, 4:10    #

I recently found this story and read all the parts as quickly as I could and then read thru them again. It is such a wonderfully crafted world you've woven here. It's Tolkien's world but with so many layers added to it. I am disheartened to see that the last part was posted back in 2006. I guess that means you never finished it and that SADDENS ME! Please, oh, please continue this….I need to know what you are going to do…

Hi - I'm not sure what makes you say this story has not been updated since 2006: a new chapter was added less than two weeks ago. At the moment, it's still on the top most page of our Recent Fiction.
To keep on top of the latest from Hel, join her Yahoo group - see link below these comments in the 'About the Author' block. And on a more general note: all stories at this archive are listed with a timestamp; either as 'x days ago' in chronological listings (Recent Additons, Recent Fiction), or simply a date anywhere else (listings per pairing, author). This timestamp refers not to when the story was first posted, but to the last (significant) update, eg, when a new chapter was added. In non-chronological listings (for exampleall stories by Hel, or all stories with Boromir), all stories that have been posted or updated within the last 30 days are marked with a red 'NEW' icon.
-the archivist

— cats_meeeow    Monday 23 June 2008, 15:53    #

I can only plead ignorance. I noticed that some comments appeared to be dated 2006 & figured that's when chpt 34 came out. I didn't go thru the recent fics to access the story or chapters…. Sorry. I'm very, very glad that it continues to be updated. Yeah! Thanks for setting me straight….

At this archive, comments always span the whole story - they're not split up by chapter. So whether you're looking at chapter 1 or 34, or at all chapters on one page, you'll always see the same list of comments - all the comments the story has accumulated over it's lifespan, with the oldest at the top, and the most recent at the bottom. Therefore, multi-chaptered stories always carry a warning saying comments may contain spoilers, as they may refer to something that happens in a later chapter.
- the archivist

— cats_meeeow    Wednesday 25 June 2008, 1:36    #

This is most excellent. Looking forward to more.

— Xyphe    Thursday 4 September 2008, 6:52    #

i have been reading this story for the last like two weeks coz seriously bordering on like war and peace with the epic-ness of this tale. but i absolutely adore it and i love the way you’ve weaved the characters lives and i totally cannot wait to find out what happens next.

magos    Friday 5 September 2008, 3:32    #

WooHoo an Update YAY!!!!!!! MORE PLEASE!!!! I LOVE THIS STORY!!!! Lpve Boro and Fara. Can’t wait for Fara to meet Estel in person. Not to mention Eowyn. WOOT this story kicks ASS!!! ;3 so please update more!

— mokona    Saturday 28 February 2009, 3:58    #

I really hope there’s going to be more… this story is brilliant. But somehow I don’t think there’s going to be any more updates… the last one was ages ago.
But if you read this: Please continue! I’m begging you…

— Gwydia    Sunday 29 August 2010, 11:31    #

I just found this, and there are really, no words to describe my epic love. I hope to see more eventually!

— Shadow Spires    Saturday 2 October 2010, 0:55    #

I admit that, though I would often read and reread this story, I didn’t hold much hope of it ever progressing past chapter 34. My shock is surpassed only by my utter delight to see a new chapter today. Thank you thank you thank you!

— LN Tora    Tuesday 15 May 2012, 1:50    #

Hel!!! If I had to pick one story I’ve always wanted to see finished, it is this one. In my opinion the most brilliant refashioning of the texts available. The amount of thought in the old religion, allegiance-fasting, realities of subversive politics — you have (re)created a world. I can’t wait to read on! Thank you!!

— Vanwa Hravani    Thursday 17 May 2012, 13:05    #

Are you going to make more? This is a good story.

— Evie    Tuesday 26 June 2012, 19:14    #

I had read this several years ago and i thought then how amazing this fic was and is, i’m unsure if you have any plans of ever continuing but know that its a great fic, and if you ever want someone to throw ideas with email me!I’ve greatly enjoyed this and will always come back to it

— minoki    Thursday 9 March 2017, 3:43    #

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  Textile help

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