Title: And in the Darkness Bind them... Author : Enchantress (abstractcloud@hotmail.com) Pairing(s):Boromir/Aragorn Rating:NC17 Summary: Very VERY graphic sex, kinky bondage, rape, violence,suicide, murder, you name it its all here...anything more would spoil the plot.... Disclaimer:I do not own these characters , even Legolas(unfortunately), Tolkein does. Lucky bugger. Warning :everything-murder, rape, non-com, graphic violence, bondage, suicide, not for the faint hearted. Arwen… Aragorn sat, daydreaming, the cool night air lapping around the wisps of smoke that trailed silken from his hookah. How he longed to feel her against him as he sat lonely, tense, watching the stifling blackness between the trees, he dreamed of her soft lips caressing every part of his body. Arwen… The wind whispered her name with every gust, taunting his coldness, until a single tear ran down his worn cheek, stinging his cut as it fell like a salty lightening bolt. Suddenly, through the mist of loneliness, and through the mist of darkness, a hand fell upon his shoulder, a figure suddenly appearing beside him. His tear laced under his chin and pulled tight as he felt it run along the blade of the dagger this figure now held there, pressing into his pulsing vein with frightening pressure. The tear continued, red. "King of Gondor, eh?" the sneer made him scowl, its tone mocking him and spitting on his forefathers, yet it made a shiver run down his spine. Boromir sensed this movement and pressed the dagger in tighter, moving his face in closer to whisper in the ear of the man who would be king. Aragorn bit his lip to stifle a moan as the figure kissed him violently on the side of his face. He hated himself for enjoying the sensation. He could feel the other's breath heavy on his neck, whispering deeply in his ear, although he was not conscious of the words, only the cold wind, the hard form against his back, and the dagger pressing ever more into his neck…until… It moved quite suddenly, and he was thrown to the ground, winded, his pipe crushed beneath frenzied bodies, he tried to writhe away half-heartedly-he was bound to Arwen, his love, but his whole body yearned to give in to Boromir, to yield to his rampant energy. He was shuffling backwards on his elbows, when the figure in the cloak pounced, pinning his hands down, the two men's heavy breaths mingling on their faces. Aragorn turned his head away, to avoid the piercing blue eyes that stared down at him with that animal lust. No sooner had he inclined his head slightly, but the dagger was back at his throat, and his hands twisted brutally so that he flipped over. Boromir savoured every moment, every sight of the king of Gondor under his control. He has reduced this great and intimidating man to nothing but a panting heap, biting his lips to try to maintain his dignity. He cackled softly, and threw off his cloak, ripping it in three. He bound both Aragorn's hands to a tree, and blindfolded him with the other. How prostate he looked, turning his head around, blind, like a lamb for sacrifice. Boromir watched the king as he writhed and struggled in confusion, kneeling on the crushed ground with his hands tied in front of him, his hair hanging down towards the earth as he finally hung his head in resignation. But not resignation. Aragorn simply wanted to distance himself, cursed his unerring humanity as cold, callous hands ripped off his breeches. How he wished he were a lesser man-that he could simply give in and be taken without the whole of Gondor hanging on his every action. Boromir drank in this power with relish, loosened the king's blindfold so it slipped down over his mouth and he bucked to free it so he could breathe. Boromir smirked, opened his eyes wildly and slid the cold metal slowly onto his finger… ~*~ Legolas stopped dead. Those unseeing blue eyes stared up at him with a piercing glaze from the contorted features seeming to bear the excruciating pain even into the next kingdom. Why such an innocent hobbit-such a brutal end? Legolas had underestimated the power of the ring, underestimated what it could drive people to. He gasped and his mind reeled as he recognised the sword driven to the hilt into Frodo's skull, the tip protruding from the bottom of his jaw. 'Boromir…' ~*~ A surge of power overcame Boromir as he saw Aragorn looking around in confusion, then realisation, then terror. Boromir smiled wickedly. How ironic that the one that is least tangible is most powerful. Now, he had the king kneeling at his feet, and he was able to do whatever he wanted. He was naked but no one could see, no one could criticise, he was not human. He was metal, cold metal. Aragorn bit his lip so hard blood ran down his chin as suddenly Boromir tore into him, violently. All remnants of his former arousal disappeared, as he felt the maddened thrusting of the man breaking him, blood running down his thighs. He tried to buck against it, but his bonds held tight, and he could not see his attacker, only feel him violating him, dragging his fingernails down his back and raking furious fingers through his hair. A tear ran down Aragorn's face as the sharp ripping pain dulled to a savage ache. The warmth spreading inside him crept to his mind, and the darkness enveloped him. Why did he not scream? Why did he not cry out and beg for mercy? Boromir fumed as fire tore through his soul. His power was not complete. He had wanted to make the king suffer, scream and writhe, beg for more while shrieking for him to stop. He could not even break the king's dignity when he was bound. He let out an almighty roar and fell to the forest ground, leaves hardly stirring as he pounded them with bloodied fists. He beat his hands in frustration against the fallen leaves, until he felt a sharp pain cut through his flesh with a sickening ripping sound. He brought his hand up to his face, watched his blood run down his arms, blackened red-cut by his own discarded dagger. He dismissed it from his mind and retrieved the one ring from where it had been flung off his finger in his anger. He was not human; he was metal, cold metal. Aragorn stirred. ~*~ The fellowship had failed. The weakness of men, the weakness of elves, of dwarves. The strongest was this hobbit, the one he now cradled in his arms, limp and devoid of all that stopped living creatures from being repulsive. He had died for the fellowship, died to protect them from what they desired most. Legolas picked up the sword, still stained with the blood of the innocent hobbit. He had no reason to live. ~*~ Boromir turned his fiery eyes towards the inert figure, struggling to stop slumping, its hands still tied, its breeches still ripped and tangled around its ankles in a pool of his own blood. Aragorn had stopped bleeding now, the redness running in slow trickles down his thighs, turning black. He could take the king now, finally make him scream. He looked too comfortable. Boromir grabbed his dagger and lunged towards Aragorn, drove it in hard. Aragorn dug his fingernails into the bark of the tree in front of him, too weak even to kick out at his invisible attacker. This time he bled, this time he screamed, he could not help it as the knife slid in and out, cutting him from inside. ~*~ Legolas heard the screams, he heard Aragorn's pain echo in his own as he lay, the sword embedded in his stomach-metal, cold metal. His life was seeping out around him, into the earth, life returning to life, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The blue of his eyes faded as he drifted out of immortality and into eternity. ~*~ The bloodlust faded, Boromir opened his eyes. What had he done? The ring fell to the earth, the earth soaked with the blood of all it had slaughtered. The man tenderly untied the king, and laid him on the forest floor, covered. He took the ripped cloak, tied it tight, and fell. The last thing Boromir heard was Aragorn's failing breathing, mingling with the soft midnight breezes beneath his swinging feet. They both drifted into the darkness together: murderer and murdered, king and servant, both the men. Both men, neither more, neither less, both slaves, slaves to the greater power, of fire, of metal-cold metal. The king's last breath whispered to the trees, and then was lost in the trailing wind. "Arwen…"