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Warriors of Gondor (NC-17) Print

Written by Hel

14 May 2012 | 182144 words | Work in Progress

Part 4: HOMECOMING

The two brothers rode the long and winding way through the city to the seventh gate. People cheered as they passed, news of their triumphs over the orcs to the west having been made known. They rode without their armor in sleeveless tunics. All could see they were strong and whole even though both carried many scars.

Denethor waited at the seventh gate to greet his sons. Then they all made a silent procession to his study where they could talk privately. He had rehearsed what he wanted to say many times. But the stoic look on his oldest son’s face warned him that any victory he achieved would be hard fought.

They had changed in the months they’d been gone, filling out more, their hair longer, Boromir’s beard thicker, and Faramir taller. As Boromir took his usual seat, he reached up and grasped his brother’s hand, looking at his father with defiance. So, now he knew that they were aware of his discoveries, and possibly his plans.

“You will be twenty in less than a month, Boromir, your brother fifteen soon after. I think it is time to start thinking about marriage,” he began, not giving Boromir time to give his usual report.

“There are no suitable brides of proper rank available, neither one of us shall wed any of our cousins. There has been too much of that and it is weakening our bloodline,” Boromir told him.

“You’re listening to that wizard again, what would his kind know of such matters?”

“I’ve used the evidence of my own eyes and wits. How many of them have the bleeding sickness, or lack wits entirely? So few live to be adults and many of those are sickly and never of much use. I will not allow it,” he said firmly. “The only female of proper rank that isn’t a relative is Éowyn, Eomond’s daughter in Rohan, and she is only an infant. It will be a several years before she is of marriageable age. With the fighting heating up from the south and east, I do not have time to look further for a bride. I will hold you to your promise that I can choose my wife, father. There is no need to rush into any marriage contracts at this time.”

“Our allies are starting to weaken under the continuous pressure of Mordor, a wedding could go a long way to raise everyone’s spirits.”

“A victory over our enemies would serve better, father. We have information about Haradrim troop movements in South Ithilien. There are many places where the right kind of attack could cause them serious damage. I was hoping you would let us establish several bases to strike at them.”

Denethor was completely surprised by Boromir’s idea, but not by the way he had taken control of the discussion. “We will discuss military matters later,” he told his son. “I think you should give more consideration to some of the marriage proposals we have received. Your brother could benefit from exposure to other cultures as well.”
“If there are no new offers from the last time I looked there is no point in it,” Boromir stated firmly. “Faramir stays with me. We have behaved with all due propriety, there are none who could criticize our behavior.” He paused, looking meaningfully at his father. “All men deserve their personal privacy, especially those who put their lives on the line to defend their country.”

Faramir found it hard to keep impassive at his brother’s words. He’d practically admitted to their relationship, and dared their father to expose it.

“If you wish us to move to a more secluded part of the tower, we can,” Boromir added flatly. “I wouldn’t want us to disturb your sleep.”

“Let’s keep things as they are for now,” Denethor replied, unable to meet his eyes, unable to risk further estranging the son he loved any more than he already had. “You two have had a long journey, we can discuss military matters later.” He couldn’t help himself; the thought of Boromir becoming more distant was too much. “My secretary has kept a log of the political developments. If you could read them over tomorrow, we can discuss them the next day. For now, go rest and enjoy yourselves. I have arranged for a banquet this evening to celebrate your return.”

Looking up from his desk he noticed a spreading red stain on Faramir’s tunic. It brought back shameful memories of his youngest son, bruised and bleeding from his own hand. “You have been hurt,” he said in concern. “A healer should look at that.”

“I will be fine,” Faramir said quickly. “It is nothing, father, an arrow wound, I’ve had much worse.” His voice trailed off on the last words. His father had given him worse injuries. Blushing, he looked away.

“We both have wounds to tend,” Boromir said rising. “We were almost ambushed on our way back, but Faramir warned us. He dreamed of it the night before and we were prepared.”

“You have farseeing dreams?” Denethor asked.

“Sometimes,” Faramir answered.

“We will talk of this later,” their father said. “Go tend your injuries. I will expect you at the banquet.”


They dressed each other’s wounds, the long gash on Boromir’s back actually the worst. Faramir ran his hand across Boromir’s chest. “You are amazing, brother,” he said, kissing his face. “Did you just get permission to fuck me or was I dreaming?”

“He has his priorities,” Boromir replied. “We have our priorities. All I have to do is make sure that we can meet somewhere in the middle.” He picked Faramir up by his hips. “I will do whatever I need to do to be with you.”

Faramir wrapped his legs around his brother’s waist as he was lowered onto his cock. “This is what I live for,” he whispered in Boromir’s ear. “Your beautiful body against me, in me, around me.” He threw his head back in ecstasy. “Boromir, I love you,” he said before leaning forward and biting his chest to stifle his scream.


Boromir sat next to his father at the high table. Faramir had left earlier to prepare a birthday surprise he’d arranged with Lani, who had arrived in Minas Tirith the previous week. Since his father wanted him closer to home, it was finally time to move her to the city.

Denethor was pleased to have so much time with his eldest. His capitulation over the marriage issue had brought them closer. He shied away from thinking about what he’d vaguely agreed to allow in the privacy of their rooms, but the lessening of tensions made him feel it was worth it.
Boromir snorted at the men performing the sword dance below them.

“Is there something wrong with their performance?” Denethor asked. He had made sure his oldest son was trained in the combat style that inspired the dance.

“Their movements are good, but this should be done in a practice field, not here and wearing such finery. There is supposed to be actual contact between flesh and blade at several points. But that would make a mess in the hall and possibly upset some of the dinner guests,” was his answer.

Watching the dancers twirl in their mock combat, Denethor could see the swords coming dangerously close to contact. “It would take a lot of skill to keep from doing serious injury in such a dance. I’m quite sure you can do it, but I don’t know of anyone else who could match you.”

“Faramir can,” Boromir told him. “We practice regularly, and have done the full dance several times in the traditional manner. We could show you if you like.”

He knew that Boromir taught his little brother much of what he learned. He hadn’t expected him to teach him anything so complicated and dangerous. That Boromir was willing to demonstrate this was rather daunting.

“I would love to see you and your brother demonstrate the traditional dance for us, Lord Boromir,” said Forlong, who had decided to attend Boromir’s birthday celebration. In moments, several others had expressed their interest and soon the following afternoon was picked as the time.


Boromir passed through the seventh gate, anxious to discover what pleasures awaited him. Both Lani and Faramir were very creative, so he knew it would be exceptional. Her house was fairly close to the gate, he had bought it and been readying it for her for over three years. Servants met him at the door and ushered him to the decadent bathroom.

Lani presided over the bath, her servants undressing and washing him. The beautiful young man and woman who attended him teased his body, while Lani fed him delicacies and a drink to restore his energy. When she led him to the bedroom he was completely aroused.

Faramir lay back on the immense bed in a seductive pose. The mirrors on all the walls and ceiling reflected his enticing image. Stepping closer, he saw the gold metal ring that encircled his penis and testicles, making them jut forward provocatively. He crawled onto the bed, all thought of anything but his beautiful brother gone.

Licking, biting, sucking and kissing his way up the recumbent form before him, Boromir paused at his cock. Running his tongue up the underside, he tongued the slit at the swollen end before swallowing the penis whole. Faramir buried his fingers in his brother’s hair as he moved his head up and down his swollen cock. His back arched as he lost control to Boromir’s hot mouth.
“Yes, brother, take me,” Faramir cried out.

The ring made his erection last much longer than normal, which made Boromir even hotter. He leaned to the side and began using his hand to stimulate his brother’s cock so that he could watch. When he finally achieved release, Faramir’s cock took several minutes to subside. Boromir watched as Lani reached over and carefully removed the ring, pulling out first his now limp cock and then each testicle separately. He examined his brother’s genitals noting a slight indentation where the ring had been and kissed the mark. Then he began kissing his body, slowly moving up to his mouth.

Lani watched the two brothers, waiting for when she might be wanted. The time she spent with them was usually as a facilitator for what they wanted to do to each other. Though she loved them dearly she’d never been ‘in love’ with either and was glad that her knowledge could enhance their pleasure. Boromir had rescued her from a boring existence as a common whore and she intended to devote her life to making him and his brother as happy as she could. Of course the house, the servants and the generous allowance helped her to make this possible.

Sliding a hand beneath his ass, Boromir found that Faramir had been prepared beforehand. They’d both been coated with sweet oil, making them slippery and heightening the eroticism.

Pausing for another deep wet kiss, Boromir rose to his knees and grabbing his brother by the hips, drove his cock all the way into his ass. He pounded into the tight hole, looking at the unbelievably sexy image of Faramir before him. It was a wild coupling and did not last long.

As they lay next to each other panting, Lani began smoothing another, sharper scented oil on Boromir. It made his flesh feel heated everywhere it touched, and brought his cock back to full erection.

“You are never going to forget this birthday, my love,” she told him.


Light filtered into the room from a high window. Boromir sat up suddenly, remembering the promise he had made to his father the night before. “Faramir, wake up, we have much to do today,” he said to his sleeping brother. “I promised father that we would perform a sword dance for him this afternoon.”

Opening his eyes and looking at the half erect cock before his face, Faramir tried to make sense of his brother’s words. Out of habit, he wrapped his hand around the penis and licked the end. “Which one did you have in mind?” he asked, sure he already knew the answer.

“Your favorite,” he replied. “Garus is getting our costumes ready, so we have about an hour before we have to be there.”

“An hour,” Faramir said, looking at all the fresh marks on his brother’s chest. “You look like you’ve been attacked. It might not set so well with father, but it does seem to inspire me,” he added as he swallowed the now fully engorged cock.

It took Boromir’s breath away to watch his brother, as liberally marked as himself, bob his head up and down on his penis. “I was attacked,” he groaned out, “by a sex fiend, with the most amazing mouth.” He groaned as his orgasm exploded into the hot mouth enclosing him.


Faramir and Garus carefully dressed Boromir in his costume. He wore leather pants that were skintight and had cut out sections to bare his flesh to his brother’s blade. Shin high boots covered his feet and a network of straps held the scabbard for his sword against his back. Faramir put the sword in the sheath and carefully checked everything over once more.

“I’ll be ready in about twenty minutes,” he told him.

“I’ll keep them occupied,” Boromir said, he kissed his brow and smiled at the soft sigh. Then he left to entertain the crowd with a brief history of this dance.

Faramir’s costume was much simpler, consisting of only a similar pair of cut out pants and the same shin high boots. He began stretching his muscles preparing for the dance. When he was ready, he grabbed his sword and had Garus signal Boromir.

At the awaited signal, Boromir cut short his oratory and moved to the center of the arena. He posed in a relaxed position, his hands open and empty.

Faramir strutted into the arena sword in hand, dancing in a tighter and tighter circle around his brother. He had complete focus on Boromir, the crowd nonexistent to him. This was the fifth and most complicated of the Númenorean sword dances. There were forty-eight moves for each dancer, thirty-two of which drew blood (not counting the opening phase, which encompassed the second dancer reaching the first).

Denethor watched his sons in the arena below him. Boromir was statue still; his head thrown back, eyes closed, an expression of almost ecstasy on his face. Faramir moved with almost inhuman grace, precise and perfect. It made his father’s breath catch in his throat. He moved so much like another figure from his past, one that he had loved and hated, that he felt himself become aroused at the sight. A small voice in the back of his mind wondered if that was at least part of the cause of his aversion to his youngest son.

Moving in close to his brother, Faramir brought his sword down in a quick move that sliced Boromir’s flesh across his chest. It bled just enough to make it clearly visible.

Boromir responded with a blindingly quick drawing of his sword and made a similar slash across his brother’s back as he danced away. They circled each other in such synchronized grace that it made those watching draw their breath in amazement. Swords flashing in the afternoon sun, they licked out to leave bright red trails on gleaming flesh. There was no flinching by either brother, their experienced hands knowing just how far to cut. This was their dance and they loved doing it.

Denethor gripped the arms of his chair tightly, his hands hidden beneath the long sleeves of his robe. His face was frozen, as he watched his sons in their feral dance. So beautiful and frightening, he correctly surmised that Boromir had begun teaching his brother this as soon as he learned it. He realized that he’d probably been teaching him everything he learned.

They were so very beautiful, so very frightening. The precision and grace of their movements accentuated by the flow of blood from all the shallow cuts they’d given each other. Moving much faster than the dancers of the previous night, they made their own music with the clash of steel against steel.

“I’ve never seen better,” commented Forlong, in a hushed voice. “They must have started early to be so good.”

“Yes, they did,” Denethor agreed, although he didn’t admit that he had had no knowledge of Faramir’s involvement. “They’ve always taken martial attributes seriously.”

With a move too fast to be really seen, Boromir’s left hand grabbed the back of his brother’s head and forced his sword arm up and back, before bringing his own sword across his throat, leaving a trail of blood. Faramir fell bonelessly forward in such a realistic fashion that many in the crowd gasped in shock. Leaning into Boromir, he slid down his body in an almost perfect imitation of dying. Only a few, including their father, noticed how his mouth trailed across the hard flesh as he came to rest on his knees, his face buried in Boromir’s belly.

Throwing his head back, Boromir stood in a pose similar to when he started, only with his sword in one hand, the other still tangled in Faramir’s hair. All was silent for a few moments as the crowd looked down at the now silent and motionless pair. Then, they began cheering at the amazing exhibition they’d just witnessed.

At Boromir’s tug, Faramir rose to his feet. Turning in unison they bowed first to their father, then to the others in the stands before leaving the arena to change.

Denethor excused himself and went to join his sons. While their performance was flawless, it had made him extremely uncomfortable. He had allowed Boromir almost complete control of his brother for many years. Looking back, he realized that there was much that he didn’t know about his sons. He’d been so busy running Gondor that he’d left the raising of the boys to others.
After their mother’s death there’d been no one person to supervise them. Since they’d rarely been in trouble, it had gone unnoticed. The nightly question and answer sessions at dinner had often been his only personal contact with them. He had chosen most of their tutors, though he had discovered that Boromir had hired some on his own.

Motioning the servant at the door out of his way, he entered the room and saw them. Faramir straddled his brother’s lap using his tongue to clean the cuts on his chest and arms. Boromir leaned forward and kissed his brother’s brow, a gesture that was so common that it usually went without notice. They both laughed at words too quiet for him to hear. Faramir leaned forward and licked his brother’s neck, and then tilted his head back baring his own neck. At the same time his hands were busily unfastening Boromir’s pants, which fell away from his hips, as the two side buckles were undone.

Boromir licked the exposed wound on his brother’s neck and lifted him up by the waist. Garus quickly cut Faramir’s pants away so that he was nude in his brother’s arms.

Denethor stood in the shadows watching. His sons were too engrossed in each other and their servant too busy to notice him. He wanted to leave, but couldn’t get his body to move.

It was shocking and sensuous to see them lubricate Boromir’s huge cock with their blood. Faramir sat down on his brother’s erection, his head thrown back, eyes glazed. Denethor was finally able to get his body to move, and left.

Boromir held his brother tightly to him. He wanted this to last and Faramir had a tendency to impatience. Pulling his head forward so that they looked each other in the eyes, he allowed him to start moving slowly. Their bodies rubbed together, their hands touching and stroking.

“You feel so good inside me, my beautiful brother,” Faramir groaned, as he rode the hard cock.

Boromir kept his brother’s body pressed tight to his, loving the feel of his cock rubbing against his belly. The taste and smell of blood and sweat added to the distinctive taste and smell of Faramir. Somehow the public performance had made him desire his sweet brother even more.

Garus had cleared a table, having been briefed by Faramir earlier. Sighting it, Boromir rose with Faramir in his arms and moved to lay him across it. Holding him tightly by the hips, Boromir pounded into his brother. Their joining was becoming more intense by the minute, neither brother wanting it to end.

Faramir put his hands above his head, reaching, and Garus grasped his wrists holding them to the table, knowing what he wanted. Arching his back and crying out, Faramir began shooting spurts of semen as he came uncontrollably. Boromir slowed his thrusts, but did not allow himself to climax yet. He bent over and licked the intoxicating mix of cum, blood, and sweat from his brother’s chest.

As Faramir relaxed completely on the table Boromir continued his now slow movements. Garus kept his hold on the younger brother’s wrists, watching the two people he loved most. Moving with slow long strokes, Boromir ran his hands over the relaxed body below him. Concentrating on Faramir’s reactions, he gently squeezed the already hardening cock. Arching his back, Faramir pushed against his brother and pulled his arms against Garus’ strong grip. He didn’t really want free; knowing this, Garus added more weight to make sure he couldn’t free himself.

As Faramir began to struggle more strenuously, Boromir grabbed his hips again, keeping the pace slow. He used more force as he switched his grip to Faramir’s knees, pushing them against his chest so that he could go deeper. The younger brother could only cry out in pleasure as he was held tightly to the table. Boromir increased the pace and Garus pushed Faramir’s hands against his shoulders to keep him from sliding across the table. They began to rapidly approach climax and the sight of Faramir’s cock pumping more semen uncontrollably between his thighs triggered the other two.

Garus quickly wiped himself and pulled his pants up as he went to check the bath for readiness. He turned back to announce the water ready when he noticed Stefle, who was guarding the door, signaling him. After a few quietly exchanged words, he went to tell the brothers about their father’s presence earlier.

The two brothers looked at each other in surprise. Faramir paled in consternation and Boromir started laughing at the news and his brother’s expression. “Don’t worry so much, brother,” he said between guffaws. “He knows that no one else could have gotten past Stefle, so we are still within the bounds of our agreement. He won’t say anything, not if we don’t.” Turning to Stefle he asked, “How much did he see?”

“You’d already started when he left,” was the answer.

“We’re still covered in blood and need to get clean. Go back to your post, Stefle; let’s finish what we were doing. I’m not going to let father’s prejudices stop us.”

He grabbed Faramir by the back of the neck and kissed him firmly. “Come wash me, brother,” he said into his mouth. “Let me wash you.”


Once he was safely locked into his study, Denethor got out the portrait he kept locked away. The artist who’d painted it had caught the essence of his subject perfectly. There was a certain indefinable air about the man that made him think of his youngest son. He remembered how he had wanted Thorongil so badly, only to be refused repeatedly. That his father had always chosen the other man’s council over his own had been like salt in the wound. He had come to hate him, though his lust for him never abated.

Propping the portrait on his desk, he sat back in his chair and opened his robe. Taking himself in hand he thought back on this man who had been, and still was, his secret obsession. His controlled grace, and effortless ability with any weapon he took up, so much like Faramir’s. The same impassive expression gave no hint of the thoughts behind the blue eyes. The lean well-muscled body that was only enhanced by the many scars was very similar to his youngest’s. Today had brought it all back, his desire and his pain.

Looking at the picture, he slipped into a favorite fantasy. Thorongil tied helpless to his bed, forced to do what ever he wished. His eyes heavy lidded with lust, he imagined how it would feel to run his hands over that lean chest. He was filled with visions of Thorongil bathing, having sex with one of the elves who visited him here, always unaware of the Steward’s son watching him. Or perhaps, just uncaring.

Before Denethor’s father died, Thorongil had simply disappeared, not even allowing the satisfaction of throwing him out. As he neared his climax, he pictured the arrogant man spread across his desk as he beat all the superiority out of him and took him with violent force. His body began his release and he closed his eyes to savor the feeling. At the peak, unbidden, came the picture of Faramir bleeding on that same desk, so beautiful and vulnerable.


Faramir had a discussion with his father about his dreams. They met in a quiet corner of the library, neither of them comfortable with being alone together in Denethor’s study. The Stewards of Gondor had a long history of farseeing and visions. Denethor had had his share of both. He was able to advise his son on many of the ways of controlling and interpreting the dreams, but their discomfort with each other got worse the longer they sat alone together. Faramir felt a strange and frightening undercurrent from his father. One that made him want to get up and run away, though he kept his feelings well hidden behind his usual impassive mask.

Denethor couldn’t stop the stray thoughts from the day of the sword dance; the vision of his sons consummating their lust for each other, covered in sweat and blood. The image that had burned itself into his mind later in his study still with him no matter how hard he tried to bury it. He wanted to flee from the thoughts that plagued him, to flee from the too tempting young man in front of him.

So they had a stilted conversation that ended as quickly as they could end it. Much that should have been said left out because they couldn’t bear each other’s presence.

Denethor surprised both brothers by staging a large celebration for Faramir’s fifteenth birthday. By the custom of their people, he was now considered an adult and as eligible for marriage or other adult activities, if he hadn’t already been in the field as a warrior, he would have been sent now. He even received a few requests to take first night honors with some of the noble families attending. Denethor gave him a beautifully made dagger. The sheath and the blade were engraved with the coat of arms of the House of Húrin on one side and Faramir’s coat of arms on the other. It pleased his father that he immediately fastened it to his side.


“He’s coming.” Faramir cried, as he sat up so suddenly that he nearly knocked Boromir from the bed. Chills raced up and down his spine and his breath was ragged in his throat. His instincts told him this was a real farseeing dream, but it was very different from the rest. Looking at his brother, who lay rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he laughed with the joy of the dream. “I’ve had a dream, my brother,” happiness evident in his voice. “A most wonderful dream.”

Sitting up and propping himself on the headboard, Boromir pulled his brother close, kissing the back of his neck. “Tell me,” he instructed.

“I saw the king, Boromir,” he said, his voice full of awe. “He was coming towards the Great Gate followed by a great army. But it was not for war as they had just returned from a great battle, defeating the forces of Mordor. He wore black mail trimmed with silver and a long white mantle clasped with a large green stone. In place of a crown, he wore a circlet from which hung a silver star. I could see him so clearly, brother. He was tall and lean with dark hair and blue eyes. At first I felt fear of him, he was so very noble and his gaze seemed to see my very soul. Then I felt your love for him, as strong as the love you bear for me, but different.”

The look on his brother’s face was so full of hope and joy that it took Boromir’s breath away. “Was this a true sending?” he asked.

“It was, brother,” he replied, turning so that his chest was pressed against his brother’s. “I can smell him in your hair, Boromir. Sweat and leather, and,” he paused, as if slightly confused. “Kingsfoil? Why would someone wear kingsfoil?”

“I don’t even know what it is, let alone why someone would wear it,” Boromir laughed, even though he, too, smelled sweat and leather accompanied by a sharp/sweet herbal scent. Taking Faramir’s face in his hands he looked into his eyes, thinking to tease him for his fancy. But for a moment it wasn’t his brother’s gaze he met. Blue eyes, yes. But dark hair, a thin face lined with grief and worries and desperately needing a shave, looked back at him. “Estel,” he gasped.

“Hope.” Faramir said at the same time.

“I saw him,” Boromir said in awe. “Tell me more.”

“There isn’t much more,” Faramir told him. “It will be a long time yet, I think. There is much pain and sorrow first. But when all seems lost, our hope will come. You said Estel, which means hope in elvish, why?”

“I think that is his name, or at least what some people call him, what I will call him. You say I love him?” Boromir asked, even as his own heart told him it was true.

“Oh yes, brother,” Faramir answered with a bright smile. “And he loves you, as if anyone could fail to love you.” He pressed his lips to his brother’s, in a deep loving kiss. “Wouldn’t it be so wonderful, my beloved brother, to no longer live in fear? To see our people prosper and the land bloom unstained by war?’ He gave a wry chuckle. “To have a king in Gondor, to sit on the throne.”

“Don’t tell father,” Boromir told him. “He would label us both traitors and cowards. Don’t even write it in your journals, it could be dangerous.”

“Would you hate it if the king did return?” Faramir asked.

He thought about it for a few minutes before answering. “If the king doesn’t return in our life time, I would still never rule Gondor. You are the one who is most fit for that position. Of course I will never tell father that, but once he is gone it will be our choice.” He paused briefly, to kiss his brother. “It is such a seductive thought, a High King in Gondor. I think I could be quite happy with that.” He pulled Faramir even closer until their bodies were pressed close from groin to chest. “You said he loves me, are you sure?”

“I know he does, brother,” was the confident answer. “It connects you like a golden ray of sunlight, even now.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I think he felt you, too,” Faramir answered. “You will know each other when you meet, or feel familiar with each other.”

“All my life foretold in dreams, little brother,” he said against his neck. “You have saved me more than once, and this new dream could save us all. I will do my best to watch for our brave king and bring him to his throne.”

“Then you will succeed, beloved brother, for you are the bravest of all men, I know you will bring ‘hope’ back to Gondor,” Faramir told him. “But I’m afraid we have many years of toil and pain before he finally comes home.”

“I would hurry time,” Boromir groaned as Faramir guided himself onto his brother’s hard cock. “But I couldn’t bear to lose one second with you.”

Faramir could not speak, lost in the joy of the dream and delicious sensations.


It had been over a year since the wizard had seen Faramir and he had changed considerably in that time. Mithrandir accepted his joyful hug and then held him at arm’s length to examine the changes. “You look much bigger and much happier than the last time I was here, Faramir,” he said. “I take it that you were able to overcome your problems?”

“With the help of my brother,” he said with a shy smile.

Mithrandir knew of the beatings the young man had endured, but had been powerless to stop them. When he had urged Faramir to seek his brother’s aid, he had refused. “And how are you handling the dreams?” he questioned.

‘Better all the time,” he answered. “Father even gave me some good advice.” Faramir paused, looking to check that Stefle still guarded the door. “There is a new dream that I sometimes share with my brother in part. My father wouldn’t approve of it.”

“Your brother dreams of this too?” the Istari asked.

“He shares many of my dreams to some extent, but he is heavily involved in this one.”

“Are you going to share this evil dream with me?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s not evil at all, even though father would denounce it,” Faramir said quickly, then leaned closer and whispered. “I have seen the king return to Minas Tirith to claim the throne of Gondor.”

The wizard paled at his words. “Whom have you told about this?” he asked urgently.

“Just Boromir, he wanted me to keep it secret. He dreams of him too, he even knows his name. He told me. . “

His words were stopped by Mithrandir’s fingers over his mouth. “Never speak it,” he told the startled young man. “Not even in private. His life would be in grave danger if the enemy knew he existed, let alone his name. There are eyes and ears everywhere.”

“Then you know him,” Faramir stated. “My brother and I are hoping to welcome him home some day, the sooner the better.”

“You are right that your father would disapprove,” the wizard told him. “Denethor hopes to see Boromir succeed him and would make him king if he could.”

“That is not what my brother wants,” Faramir said with confidence. “He has no desire to rule Gondor.”

“You are sure of this?”

“Faramir knows all the secrets my heart contains,” Boromir said as he entered the room. Putting his arms around his brother, he kissed his brow and held him close. The marks on their necks were visible above their high collars as they gave each other an intense regard.

Mithrandir had long suspected that their closeness would only increase as they grew older and knew the signs they openly displayed to him now. The look of adoration in the younger brother’s eyes was echoed in the elder’s, their body language clear to anyone who looked.

“You are looking well, Boromir,” he said.

“And you look the same as ever,” he replied. “I came to give you a hand as well.” It was obvious that he was more interested in his brother than anything the wizard needed.

“Your aid is always welcome,” Mithrandir answered. “But maybe you could tell me a little more about this dream first.”

“Tell him,” Boromir told his brother, looking to the door.

Faramir described the dream in detail, but leaving out the personal connection between Boromir and the future king. The wizard sensed his holding back, but chose to ignore it for now.

“There is very little I can tell you,” he said to the two young men. “There is an heir still alive, but the enemy hunts him still. When he can, he will return to Gondor, but no one knows when that will be.”

Though Mithrandir gave them very little information, they were somewhat satisfied with what he shared. Often he would tell them nothing at all, only making references to histories and books contained in the library and archives. For now, they would wait for their king and do what they could to ensure there would be a kingdom for him to claim.

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

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


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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