Title: In the Company of Men, part 1
Author: Sunraven
Feedback: sunravenbjw@verizon.net 
Pairing: Boromir/Aragorn 
Category: Mixture of comedy and angst and striving - first time 
Date: 15-Feb-07
Status: U
Series: yes - still in progress
Synopsis: The Steward-Prince of Gondor meets Ilsidur's heir.
Notes: Mixture of JRRT's book and the movie universe, whichever fits my plot 
better at the time.
Warnings: R rated
Disclaimer: Not my property. No profit


The Council of Elrond

"...the line of Meneldil son of Anarion failed, and the Tree withered, and the 
blood of the Numenoreans became mingled with lesser men..."

Legolas heard an odd sound of grinding from his right and glanced over at the 
Steward's son of Gondor.  The man's eyes, green as an elven bower, resembled 
more at this moment the sunlight flashing on the submerged lichen in the 
Harachial river just before the falls. The grinding was Boromir's jaw and teeth 
clenching in irritation.

//I'll have to have another talk to Elrond about his arrogance.  Just because 
the Numenoreans mated more with other humans than with elves over the last two 
thousand years, that doesn't necessarily mean the line of men has withered.// 
Legolas thought with a sigh. //Perhaps I should offer Boromir some sagut gum 
leaves to chew on.  At least they would help keep his teeth from grinding down 
to stubs.  I bet he could crack nuts in that jaw!//

Legolas thoughts went back to the council meeting as Boromir finally spoke up 
about what his people have been dealing with in Minas Tireth.  The truth of this 
showed in the face of the tall warrior, in the obvious marks of wear of 
Boromir's sword, dagger, and armor.  He had the look of a man who has seen the 
destruction of his home in the stars and portents, and who in his inner heart 
has felt despair.

When Frodo showed the ring to everyone, laying it on the stone in the center of 
the counsel chamber, the Gondorian, acting as though he was mesmerized by the 
ring, started towards it, telling of a recurrent dream he had been having in 
Minas Tireth.  Only the magic of Gandalf stopped Boromir's reaching for the 
ring, but the Wizard shocked everyone by uttering his words in the ancient 
language of Mordor.  

It was enough to shock the Steward Prince of Gondor into turning and going back 
to his seat.  But he was not finished.  Boromir next said words about using the 
ring to take the battle to the enemy.

Aragorn said in that quiet way of his, "No one can wield the ring except Sauron.  
It is bound to his will only."

"And what would a Ranger know about such things?"

Enough was enough!  Legolas didn't like the Gondorian insulting his friend.  He 
jumped up and said, "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and you owe him your 
allegiance!"

Boromir stared at Legolas and Aragorn in appalled shock for a minute, finally 
saying with derision, "You are Aragorn?  /This/ is Ilisidur's heir?" He paused. 
"Gondor has no king.  Gondor NEEDS no king." 

Legolas, seeing the shock on the Boromir's face, felt a little guilty that his 
words had been so abrupt. //It can't be any fun to find out that there was a 
king of your country wandering around with a broken sword for the last few 
millenia, all set to come and uproot your family and take your father's 
throne.//

The council members watched as Boromir challenged Aragorn, the doubt clear in 
the younger man's voice and face.  For all of them, the doubt was 
understandable.  They all knew that it was up to Aragorn to convince Boromir he 
was fit for his crown.  All the words from Gandalf or Elrond in the world 
wouldn't touch the pride of the man of Gondor.  Aragorn son of Arathorn needed 
to prove his own worth to the other man.

--------------


The council meeting ended with the beginning of the fellowship of the ring.  
Instead of joining in the elves' celebration with songs, food and drink, though, 
Boromir let his restless feet carry him away from the noisy throng.  He had a 
lot to think about, not the least being why he agreed to this ridiculous 
fellowship in the first place.  A halfling take the ring of power to Mordor?  
Might as well just march right up to Mordor and hand it to the Evil One on one 
of Denethor's precious silver serving platters.

Legolas followed Boromir out of the lights and into the dark, just to make sure 
he was okay. 

"Boromir?"

The man jolted in surprise, obviously not hearing the elf approach.

"What are you doing, sneaking up on me like that?"

He ignored the testy tone of voice and smiled.  "Elves can't help but sneak up 
on Men.  Your hearing isn't good enough to catch us coming."  Legolas paused, 
then decided to go ahead with his concerns.  "You have had a few shocks, and I 
wanted to make sure you have recovered from them.  It would be rude to leave you 
confused while I sang songs with the others."

Boromir snorted in amusement.  Legolas was one of the more tolerable elves he'd 
met here in Rivendell, in his mind.  He was one of the younger Mirkwood elves, 
only a few thousand years old, and his Rivendell elders seemed to consider him 
impulsive and impatient.  Boromir had found his weird sense of humor amusing in 
the few times he had spoken with the elf.

"Why don't you sneak back to the party, Legolas.  I'm fine, except I have a lot 
of thinking to do on what we heard today."

"Thinking?  Brooding, is more like it.  I heard your teeth grinding from where I 
sat, Boromir.  You men do a lot of brooding, like the suckle-turkeys when they 
have eggs to sit on.  You know, Berkle-kurkle-burkle-caah!"  He flapped his 
elbows like the described bird's stumpy wings.

Another snort came from the man.  "I don't know why I let you insult me like 
that.  I guess it's because you're the only elf who doesn't break out singing at 
all of the weirdest times.  A man can't get a thought in edgewise with all of 
the racket."

Legolas smiled back at the man who he thought could become a friend in time.  
Then his face sobered.  "Boromir, give Aragorn a chance to show you what kind of 
king he will make before you choose to ignore his claim.  I have known him for 
over seventy years, and he has always proven himself in all things during that 
time.  He is a good man, and a good friend."

"Seventy years, huh?  I didn't know that the ever-thinning blood of Numenor let 
him live that long.  Elrond is probably disappointed at seeing his theory proved 
wrong."

"That is Elrond half-elven, unfortunately.  You know how it is.  The half-elven 
are the most staunch supporters of the purity of elven blood.  Still, he is my 
friend, and my mother's great-uncle.  It has helped me learn forbearance, and he 
is actually pretty wise."

"Yes.  So I have heard."

Legolas laughed at the sound of doubt in the simple statement.  He patted 
Boromir on his wide shoulder and said as he turned to head back to the party, 
"Well, try not to brood over matters you can't do anything about, hmmm?"

From the dark at his back the Gondorian got the last word in as he said in 
farewell, " Berkle-kurkle-burkle-caah!"

Once Legolas had disappeared into the house of Elrond, Boromir strode forward to 
see if he could find a clear area and maybe get a glimpse of night sky.  He felt 
smothered by all this greenery above his head.  Not for the first time did he 
long for the treeless vales of his home, where a man could lie back either on 
his own or with a lover and name the constellations or pass the night in 
pleasure.

This time he heard the approach of someone behind him.  He turned and pulled his 
sword in one smooth move, the blade resting on the throat of the Ranger who felt 
he was good enough to be Gondor's king.

Aragorn did not push the blade aside, but instead became still.  Only the 
brightness of his blue eyes broke the frozen tableau.

"If you aren't going to kill me, then I would suggest you put your sword away, 
Man of Gondor."

Not quite understanding why he did it, Boromir sheathed his blade.  "You risk 
much coming at me in the dark. I am used to a non-ending battleground, Ranger.  
I could have taken your head without even breathing hard."

Aragorn's white teeth flashed his amusement at the bragging.  "You would have to 
be faster than you were, Boromir, because I have had my dagger at your spine the 
entire time." He sheathed the knife in a business-like way.

Boromir had to smile at that response.  They were stalemated in this one.  
Still, he couldn't let Aragorn get off without another challenge.  He crossed 
his arms over his red and gold tunic.  "Have you come out here to try to 
convince me as to the rightness of your cause?  The cause that would take my 
Father's kingdom from him?  A land that Stewards of Gondor have bled and died in 
the hundreds for, while your kin stayed safe and out of trouble in the bowers of 
the elves."

He finally got through to Aragorn with his scornful words, and the Ranger went 
after Boromir in a silent economy of movement that had the Steward Prince of 
Gondor flat on his back with the full weight of the angry Ranger on top of him, 
elbow pressing on his throat.

"You squeal of my kin like a babbling child who knows nothing but his mother's 
teat, Man of Gondor!  The Dunedain have kept the lands of the west safe wherever 
there was shadow to fight, and have done so for countless generations.  Yes, 
your people have fought bravely against the darkness of the nameless one for 
longer than anyone would expect them to.  But I have not been sitting here in 
the Last Homely House making up new songs, nor have my forbearers before me.  My 
scars are deep and numerous and speak for themselves."

Boromir pushed Aragorn off of him suddenly, reversing their position.  "You 
speak of scars?"  He pulled his tunic and his chain mail to the side to show an 
area of his neck.  Even in the dark Aragorn could see the white puckered flesh 
of scar tissue on the other man's neck and collar bone that led down into his 
shirt.  Out of curiosity, he put his hand up and stroked the skin there, the 
deepness of the scar telling his healer's fingers just how close Boromir had 
come to death.

"This is indeed the result of a grievous wound, Boromir.  I am surprised you 
lived.  How did it happen?"

Surprisingly, Boromir moved over to the side and off of Aragorn at that, the 
touching making him nervous, for some reason.  He sat up on his elbows and tried 
to make out his companion in the darkness.  "It was a little rock-troll memento 
when I disappointed it by keeping it from killing my father while we were out 
hunting.  I was close to death for weeks from this love-tap before I finally 
started healing."

"You are valiant, Boromir.  One man taking on a rock troll?  You were lucky you 
survived to tell the tale."

The Gondorian shrugged dismissively.  "It tried to kill my father.  No one does 
that and lives, by Baliathor's bony arse!"

Amusement tinged Aragorn's voice now.  "Did you just curse by my ancestor's 
butt, Boromir?"

"Yeah.  What of it?"

"Oh nothing.  I expect his ass /was/ bony."  Aragorn fell silently on his back 
and just looked up at the stars shoulder to shoulder with Boromir.  "Boromir, 
give me a chance to earn your trust.  I don't know if the strength of my blood 
will push me to look for a crown or not.  But I would not wish to quarrel with 
one who has the same descendants as mine."

"Kin not so high as yours, I think, Aragorn.  My folk usually came from the 
other side of the kings' blankets.  Plus, we were the ones who did all the 
work."  Boromir's voice quieted a bit, but the bitterness was still there.  "As 
always."  

Aragorn thought during the following pause in his companion's voice that he had 
fallen asleep.  A few minutes later Boromir said tiredly, "I will not quarrel 
with you now, as you put it.  But if you mean harm to my Father or my little 
brother Faramir, Ranger, you and I WILL cross swords."

"Thank you.  At this point, we have a fellowship to get to Mordor without 
getting them killed on the way or the ring stolen.  Going to the White City, 
though I would love to see it again, won't be happening for some time."

"Do you think the halfling can destroy the ring, Aragorn?"

It was Aragorn's turn to pause.  "If anyone can send that ring into Mount doom, 
it is Frodo.  Gandalf tells me that the Baggins family has good strong roots, 
and a streak of stubbornness a mile long.  Bilbo carried the ring for sixty 
years, and had little difficulty handing it over to Frodo when the time came to 
do so."

This time in the quiet following their words, Aragorn heard a faint snore from 
his right.  He turned towards his companion and impulsively stroked the other 
man's face gently, but soft enough not to wake the exhausted warrior.  He felt a 
curious emotional need as he looked at the Gondorian in the starlight.  For some 
reason he wanted this man to respect him.  He hadn't felt this strong of a 
desire to prove himself for the last sixty years or so.  //Boromir has the look 
of my forbearers, Ilsidur and Ellendil especially.  Despite what side of the 
blanket his roots came from, I think he will make a stalwart companion in the 
fellowship if he does not suffer the weakness that all of my kin have regarding 
that damned ring.//

Even though Aragorn could feel Arwin's mental call to him, something made him 
continue to lie by the side of Boromir until he found the darkness of dreams for 
himself as well. 

---------------

The next morning, Aragorn woke up at dawn as usual.  When he first opened his 
eyes, he wondered where he was, and why he was wet from the morning dew.  Then 
he felt warm breath on his neck and a body's warmth against his side.  An erect 
male body.  He turned to look at the source of both.  It was Boromir, who had 
turned onto his side and without meaning to, had apparently gravitated to the 
warmth of the other man during the night.  It had been a while since Aragorn had 
awakened with another man lying close enough to be a lover.

//He looks so young and carefree when he sleeps.  I wonder, have I ever looked 
that young?//  Aragorn stifled a completely inappropriate urge to push the hair 
away from Boromir's face. 

//Maybe I feel this way because he reminds me of me as a young man.  But was I 
ever so troubled?  He looks as though the whole world is on his shoulders at 
times.  Perhaps someday he will trust me enough to tell me what has caused him 
so much grief.//

Right then Boromir opened green eyes, saw Aragorn so close to his face, and 
moved up and away on his elbow.  He also blushed red underneath his tan.

"Did I move up to you in my sleep?  Sorry, I do that sometimes when it gets 
cold.  My brother says I am like a many-limbed creature when I get cold."

Aragorn sat up with a smile.  "I took no offense, Boromir.  You wouldn't have 
gotten that close if I had considered you a danger. I would have awakened.  As 
you would have if you had felt at risk."

"Why didn't you go in to a real bed, Aragorn?  It must be more comfortable than 
lying here on the grass."

"I enjoyed looking at the stars, and then just fell asleep, as you did."

Boromir sat up, scratched his scalp and, with the lack of embarrassment that 
spoke of many campaigns among soldiers with no privacy to speak of, repositioned 
his morning wood to a less squashed position. He came to his feet in one smooth 
motion.

"I am in sore need of a bath, which I have not had since I traveled through 
Rohan.  Quick wash-downs in freezing springs just do not count.  Could you point 
me in the direction of the nearest bath house, Aragorn?"

"Elrond has piped in hot spring water for bathing.  I could use one as well.  
Follow me."

The two men went to the communal baths, which were actually natural-looking 
pools of fragrant steaming mineral water.  There were elves of both sexes in the 
baths already, despite the earliness of the morning.

Boromir politely looked away from the naked bodies, obviously not used to the 
openness of the elves.

Aragorn saw his companion's discomfort and asked, "Are you not accustomed to 
communal bathing waters, Boromir?"

"I am a simple soldier, Aragorn.  We do not have the leisure to mix the baths as 
though we could spend more time than necessary to bathe.  Women are held with 
great reverence in the White City, because they are fewer than men there.  It 
would be unseemly for a woman who is not a professional courtesan to bathe with 
men in public."

"Then why don't we go to one of the private baths so you can be more 
comfortable?  Come, do not undress until we get to them."

The private baths were all in recessed grottos, and Aragorn quickly undressed as 
soon as they got there and climbed into the pool.  Boromir followed his lead, 
and sighed when his body was engulfed by the hot water. 

"By Oak and Ash, Aragorn, I think when I get home, I'll build one of these in 
the palace of the Steward."

Aragorn smiled at the younger man's enthusiasm.

"That's assuming any of us return from the fellowship."

"For this, Arathorn's son, I will make sure I return!"  Boromir dunked his 
greasy hair under the water and came up, blowing water out of his nose and 
mouth.

"Is there anything to wash my hair with?"

Aragorn reached into a niche and brought out a bottle of green liquid. "Elrond 
designed this.  It cleans all parts of the body that need cleansing." He moved 
over to the other man.  "Here, let me wash your back, Boromir."

Boromir blushed.  "Uhhhh..."

"Did I touch on a taboo activity in Gondor?  Do men not wash each other's backs 
in the White City?"

"They do, but usually it is between lovers or close friends."

"And because I am neither as yet, would I be intruding?"

Boromir took that, especially the "as yet" as a challenge.  His blush got even 
darker, but he turned his back to Aragorn and said gruffly.  "Do as you wish."

Aragorn took the fragrant green liquid and poured some of it on Boromir's head.  
Strong fingers accustomed to carrying and using a sword massaged the other's 
scalp until all residual dirt of the road was gone.  The Dunedan could see his 
companion finally start to relax, and Boromir leaned into the massage.

"That's right, Boromir.  Relax and let the heat and the fragrance seep into your 
soul.  You have had a long and troubled journey and should now rest as much as 
you can before our striving begins again."  

Aragorn's strong fingers moved down Boromir's head to his neck and started 
working out the kinks from long hours, days and weeks at a time, in the saddle.  
He found himself growing hard as he did it, which hadn't happened with a man in 
a long while.    

"Dunk your head and get the soap off, then I will do your back."

Boromir dunked his head and got all the soap off, then he came back up with his 
back towards Aragorn.

The man who might be king scrubbed the Gondorian's back with sand from the 
bottom of the pool laced with the green soap.  He also massaged out a few 
bunched up muscles, some being so tight that Boromir groaned when the tension 
was finally released in them.

When he was finished, Aragorn was almost holding the younger man.  "May I ask 
for the same favor in return?"  He asked gently, not wanting to startle Boromir.

"Of course."  

Boromir got the green liquid and poured it onto Aragorn's hair.  Instead of 
standing behind him, he stood in front of him, close enough to smell the other's 
breath.

Aragorn took a deep breath at the proximity of the naked man and willed his 
erection to disappear before Boromir got embarrassed.

But he need not have worried.  After doing Aragorn's hair, Boromir moved 
business-like around behind Aragorn and started cleaning his back, giving the 
older man a nice massage at the same time.  Once he was finished washing 
Aragorn's back, Boromir took some more of the soap liquid and poured it on his 
own chest and shoulders and belly.  He used the pool sand to wash himself 
deeply, ignoring his own and his companion's erections.  Aragorn did the same, 
and afterwards, the Numenorian and the Gondorian sat back and let the water's 
heat rid them of the final tension from the danger and the long trips they both 
had just finished.

About a half-hour later, Boromir stepped up out of the bath and used one of the 
omnipresent towels to dry off.  He dug in his pack and found another tunic like 
the red and gold one he had worn in to Rivendell, this one was slightly more 
worn, but at least it was clean. He turned to put back on his soiled leather 
britches, but found that they had been replaced with elvan trousers made of some 
kind of soft wool.  His hosts had also taken all of his dirty, travel-stained 
clothing as well, probably to have them washed.  //These elves can't stand the 
stink of a man long on the road.  Probably offends their sensibilities, poor 
things.//

"Don't fall asleep in there, Aragorn.  You'll drown."

In response, the Numenorean stood up and left the pool, feeling like a limp rag 
from the heat.  Fortunately for his peace of mind, other things were limp as 
well from the long soak.

Boromir was dressed, and he turned and said to Aragorn, "Where do I go to get 
Elrond's counsel?  I have questions."

"Wait for me and I will accompany you there."

"Okay.  I'll be just outside."

Boromir left the bath area as though embarrassed by Aragorn's nakedness while he 
stayed clothed.  His nervousness made Aragorn smile. /He is like a skittish mare 
letting the stallion know that the mating will be on her terms, not his./

Now why did he think about mating with regards to Boromir?  There was no mistake 
about it, this young man was affecting Aragorn more than anyone other than Arwin 
had in a long time.  //Yet I don't think that Boromir is the type to play at 
sex.  He is so intense, I think he would have to care deeply for someone before 
he let himself get physically close.  And I bet he loves with all that is within 
him.  He took on a rock troll to save his father, and acts as though it was the 
obvious thing to do.  Lo to anyone who tries to hurt someone Boromir loves.  
Have I ever loved that deeply?  I love Arwin so much, yet loving her is like a 
dream.  She is like an angel to me, even though she is far from being an 
angel..."

He smiled as he thought of his she-elf.  Then he sobered as thoughts of Boromir 
intruded.  //Loving Boromir would be like loving myself, in a way.  We are both 
men, sweaty, dirty at times, earthy and sensuous.  And we both have to care for 
someone before we take them to our beds.//

"Aragorn?  What are you doing in there? Are you coming?"

The Numenorian smiled at the fractious tone of his companion.  "I am coming."

-----------------


The Fellowship of the Ring


The fellowship left Rivendell a few weeks later after Frodo was healed as bestas 
he could be.  They traveled through the forest for five days, then moved into 
the foothills leading to the southern pass to the hills of Rohan.

It was late autumn in middle earth, and as the trek moved towards the pass, 
Boromir was glad for the elves' gifts of extra clothing when the chill wind of 
the foothills hit him.  He still had on his leather fur-lined cloak and his 
thick leather over-vest with the embroidery of the one tree on the back, though, 
because these and the white tree forearm guards had been a gift from Faramir 
when Father decided it would be Boromir who would take this trip to find out 
about the one ring and to get the riddle of his dreams answered.  He thought 
about his little brother and smiled.  He wondered how Faramir was doing now that 
he was the ranking Captain of the Guard with Boromir gone.

//Faramir is a scholar first and a soldier second, and always will be.  But he 
is well-versed in both areas, and didn't deserve Father's disdain when he 
decided who would go on this trip.  Still, now that he is in charge, he will 
change Father's mind about him, in due time.//

Denethor's scorn for his younger son had always angered Boromir, and while they 
were growing up he had often found himself acting as a go-between to protect his 
brother from their father's sharp words. He hadn't understood why his father 
felt that way until one night, after a nasty drunken heckling that forced 
Faramir to leave before he said something his over-developed conscious would 
make him regret.  Boromir turned on his father and said, "Why do you always do 
that to him, Father?  He shot only two feet shorter than I in the contest, and 
his bow arm is not as strong as mine because he is still a boy.  He did not 
deserve your censure."

"How dare you question me!"

"Answer me, Father.  Why do you hate him so?"

As he often did when he drank too much, Denethor's anger turned to tears.  "He 
prefers to take his learning from the likes of Mithrandir, instead of his own 
Father.  He is like a female, with all his reading, and poetry, and history!  He 
should be happy wielding a sword instead of a history text.  He disgraces me."

"Father, it isn't a fault that Faramir thinks more than you or I do.  He will be 
a stronger leader because of it.  He loves you greatly, and has a great heart."

Denethor ignored his eldest son's words, however, and continued a drunken babble 
to himself.  Boromir called his Father's manservant and asked that he put 
Denethor to bed.  Then he went out to find his brother.

He found Faramir where he knew he would be.  The boy was in the stall of his 
favorite mare, who had delivered a foal a few days ago.  The man walked into the 
warm darkness and sat down on the clean straw next to his brother, who was 
stroking the sleeping colt's flank gently. 

"He was drunk, Faramir.  He didn't mean what he said.  You did well in the 
archery contest."

"Why does our Father hate me, Boromir?"

"He doesn't, even though he acts like he does sometimes.  He doesn't understand 
you.  He and I are alike, and so he thinks that his other son should be as we 
are as though we are pastries that come from the same molds.  It is his 
weakness, the way he sees you, one that I fortunately don't share."

Boromir draped his arm around his brother.  "I think you're a stalwart soul, 
even if you do like to read a little too much for a son of the Steward.  It is 
that difference that bothers our Father.  You are not like us, in that you think 
before you fight.  He understands me, because I am a soldier and a simple man 
like him.  But you are more like Mother than Father."

The tease caused Faramir's sadness to lift and he smiled his sweet smile.  "I 
may not be able to beat you yet in archery, but scholarly pursuits are one thing 
that you are behind me on!"

"That I am.  My head's a little too rock hard to let in a lot of words.  I'd 
rather fight."  He tightened his hold into a hug.  "Your reading and thinking 
would make you a far better Steward than me, Far.  You should have been the 
oldest, then I would have been your Captain General until you had grown sons of 
your own."

"You will always have me to help you, Bor, as well as my sword arm to protect 
you and Minas Tireth.  I have no wish to be Steward."

"I know.  Just don't let Father get to you, okay?  You and I know how good a 
soldier you already are, and you aren't even full grown.  You will be quite a 
Captain when you reach manhood.  Plus, I was embarrassed how well you shot in 
the contest today.  I'm afraid that it won't be long before you surpass me in 
that."

"You /do/ seem to like a sword better than a bow, big brother." Faramir answered 
smugly.

Boromir could feel most of his brother's upset over their Father's harsh words 
ease, and he relaxed and stroked the sleeping colt's hock idly.

"This little one will be something when he gets some growth.  He already has the 
build of a war-horse.  It was a good idea to breed Sandy to Old Firebreather.  
If this one is half as good as his father was in his day, then he will carry you 
into the fires of Mount Doom if you asked it of him.  What are you going to call 
him?"

"I have called him Firebrand.  Because of his personality and that roan brand on 
his face."

"Firebrand, huh?  It fits.  I like it.  I look forward to seeing him when he is 
grown."//  


Boromir started from his memories and tried to catch what Aragorn was saying to 
him.

"Boromir?" Aragorn asked, curious why the Gondorian had missed the Ranger's 
question.

"Sorry, I was thinking of Gondor."

"Would you like to go hunting with me?  I saw the spoor of a deer at that last 
creek.  The entire party could do with some fresh meat as a change."

"Why?  Is Legolas busy?"

"He is sparring with Gimli, as usual, and they are enjoying themselves so much 
that I didn't have the heart to interrupt.  Besides, I wanted to see how Gondor 
has taught you to hunt."

"Just let me get out my bow, and we can go."

"Why do you not carry the bow out and cocked, Boromir?  You shoot well and could 
use it to defend us from afar."

"I'm better with a sword in a battle.  It's my brother who can shoot a head of 
wheat off of a stalk from horseback.  I can shoot to hunt, or for archery 
contests, but after my brother began to beat me at bow work when he was just a 
child, I decided that I had better stick to what I am built for, and do, best."  
He patted his sword. 

Aragorn looked the large man up and down.  "You do have a swordsman's build.  
Since I grew up among the elves, archery was a required skill from when I was 
just a small child."  Aragorn looked over at the spoor and said quietly, "Here.  
See?  A young buck, moving to get down to the stream."

"It might be a doe, but either would be a change from rabbit and elvish bread." 
Boromir whispered back.

The two men followed the tracks, trying to stay up-wind from them in order not 
to warn their prey of their proximity.  Soon they came upon the buck, a young 
one with the short horns of one season on its forehead.  As though they were of 
one mind, Aragorn and Boromir pulled back their bows and loosed deadly arrows at 
the deer.  Boromir's struck the animal's heart through its ribs, and Aragorn's 
went through the buck's eye into its brain.  Needless to say, it dropped in its 
tracks, dead before it hit the ground.

"Which of us gets the heart?" Boromir asked, referring to an old Gondorian 
tradition that whoever made the killing blow got the treat of the animal's heart 
to ingest, in order to take the deer's strength onto himself.

Aragorn, who was opening up the animal's carcass with his knife, said, "Both 
hits were mortal.  We can share it."

"I have a better idea, Aragorn.  Frodo has been looking wearier every day we 
have been at this quest.  Why don't we give it to him?  He could use the added 
strength, I think."

Aragorn looked closely at Boromir, a distinctly admiring look on his face.  "You 
are generous of heart, my friend.  You are correct. Frodo could use the strength 
of this fine animal more than us."

Boromir blushed at the older man's regard, and his eyes dropped down to the 
bloody knife in his hand that he was using to help skin the deer.  "From what 
Elrond said, the little one carries our salvation with him into Mordor, a great 
burden, indeed."

The two men finished taking the best pieces of the deer in its pelt to take with 
them back to the fellowship.  Before he picked up the share he was to carry, 
though, Aragorn stepped over to Boromir, put his hands on Boromir's shoulders, 
and leaned in and kissed him.  Boromir smelled like unwashed man, like blood and 
woodsmoke and the excitement of the hunt. 

The Gondorian did not retreat from the kiss, nor did he move into Aragorn's 
arms.  His face turned red from the sign of affection, but he pulled away and 
said with dignity, "Do not do that unless you mean it, Ranger.  Lords of Gondor 
do not touch another in that way unless they plan to do something about it!"

"I do mean it.  I would not do it, else."  Aragorn said, his voice huskier than 
was usual for him.  The hunt had aroused him, and he finally decided to take the 
chance that the Gondorian felt the same. 

Boromir dropped his half of the deer carcass, wrapped a bloody hand behind 
Aragorn's neck, and pulled the Ranger into him with such force that they bumped 
teeth when they touched.  Neither man knew who first used tongue, but before 
long they were lip-locked and dueling tongues, striving for dominance as usual.

The kiss ended when Aragorn stepped back from the intensity.  His lips were 
swollen from being bitten.  At Boromir's bereft look that he had stopped the 
kiss, Aragorn said gently, "I do not run from you.  I prefer that we explore 
this without blood covering us, and in a place where we can take our time about 
it.  That is, if you wish it."

"What about your elf?"

"Elves live too long to bother with rules of celibacy designed by short-lived 
men.  She understands."

"I... I'm not sure that I do.  But we will discuss this later, if you will."

"I do will it, Boromir, very much."  Aragorn used the intensity of his voice to 
let Boromir know that he was very serious.

With a nod as a promise, Boromir picked up his burden and headed back to the 
campsite, with Aragorn following quietly behind him. 

On the way back, Aragorn found some watercress at the stream where the two men 
washed the blood off themselves. 

"This is a strengthening plant.  It will do us all good to have some with 
dinner.

"Yes.  The little ones should eat the most of it, though.  They will have to 
strengthen up the most out of all of us."

"Do not be surprised if the hobbits show themselves to be tougher than we men.  
They are small, but have great heart."  
---------------------

When they stopped at sunset, Sam and Pippen fried both the liver and the heart 
of the buck with some wild onions and mushrooms they had found, and gave it to 
Frodo as his portion.  They wrapped the largest part of the meat in cooking 
cloths with various herbs and buried them under the fire to cook through the 
night.  The rest they put into Sam's biggest pot and made a savory stew.  They 
cooked the watercress in water with what was left of the bacon, onions, herbs, 
and a pinch of Sam's spare store of salt.

None of the hobbits noticed that the men left most of the greens to them.  
Gandalf noticed, and smiled at Boromir and Aragorn for their generosity.  
Legolas was too busy teasing Gimli, who didn't like greens at all, to notice 
what his companions did.  Surprisingly enough, the two disparate beings, the 
dwarf and the wood elf, were becoming fast friends since the trek began.

The Hobbits were exhausted from the long day's hike, and they rolled themselves 
up in their cloaks and blankets as soon as dinner was complete.  Gandalf also 
seemed tired, still not quite recovered from his captivity by Saruman.  Legolas 
and Gimli played a pebble game that the dwarf had taught the elf on the first 
night of the trip.  Boromir sharpened and cleaned his blades, trying not to 
appear too aware of Aragorn sitting and smoking beside him on a log.  Both men 
kept their ears out for anyone approaching the fire, as did Legolas even while 
he played with Gimli.

Legolas and Gimli stood first watch.  The Hobbits had been sharing bedrolls in 
order to share body heat since the quest had begun.  Gandalf, as always, slept 
alone.  Legolas did not feel the chill or need much sleap, but he always put his 
sleeping gear near Gimli's so the two of them could whisper in the night.  So 
the two men had naturally gravitated together in their sleeping arrangements.

As Boromir got ready for sleep, he looked up at a watching Aragorn and said 
quietly, "Shall we share body warmth against the chill?" 

"Of course.  I would have done it earlier if I felt you had wished it of me."

"Neither of us was ready, nor had we shared the hunt and kill before."  Boromir 
took off his fur-lined cloak, spread out his blanket on the mossy ground, and 
set his pack as his pillow and the cloak as cover.  All of the fellowship slept 
with full dress on in case they had to make a quick get-away or fight their way 
out of an ambush.  But Boromir took off his forearm guards and his sword sheath 
and shield and laid them to his side where he could easily reach them if needed.  
He held the cloak up to Aragorn and said, "Come inside and get warm."

Aragorn laid his blanket next to and overlapping Boromir's and lay down.  He 
grabbed the extra fabric of the elven blanket and rolled it over the two of 
them.  Boromir then placed this fur-lined cloak around them both.

"This is a good stout cloak."

"My brother gave it to me along with the vest and wrist guards as an early 
birthday present when our Father asked me to go on the quest to Rivendell.  He 
is quite fond of me, and did not want me to get cold.  It has kept me warm for 
my entire trip.  For even though I made it through the pass of Rohan during 
midsummer, it still was cold on the peaks."

Boromir reached out to Aragorn.  "Would you like to come closer?  Is this still 
what you wish, Aragorn?"

"Aye, Boromir.  It is what I wish. Very much." He said once again.

Aragorn allowed himself to be pulled close to Boromir's body, and he felt the 
other man's breath quicken when they touched.  He leaned in and in the darkness 
he kissed Boromir, the Gondorian's beard scratchy on his own face.  They came 
together hard, and while striving to be quiet and not alert their compatriots of 
their passion, their two erections rubbed against each other through their 
britches, and the friction gave off its own brand of heat.  It had been so long 
for Boromir since he had been with anyone that he felt the fire through his 
loins signaling his release only a few minutes after the frottage had started.  
The power of it almost caused him to cry out, but, sensing this, Aragorn 
captured his lips with his own and swallowed the noise.  It was that gasp, 
letting him know what he was doing to Boromir, that triggered his own release.  
Neither man had even had a chance to open his britches.

Aragorn put his arms around a still shaking Boromir, whispering in the other's 
ear as he stroked his hair with one hand, "You have been alone for a long while, 
my friend."

"Yes, it has been a while.  My last lover was killed nine months ago while my 
company harried a large band of orcs out of Ithilian."

"Your lover?  Do you then allow your women to fight by your side?"

Aragorn couldn't see Boromir in the dark under the cloak, but he could feel his 
smile somehow.

"No.  As I told you, we have fewer women than men in Minas Tireth.  We would 
never risk them by sending them out to battle, no matter how desperate the 
circumstances.  My lover was my Under-Captain, Hamain.  I am never in the city 
enough to engage in courtship, and I have no interest a loveless pairing with 
any of the local courtesans."

"You must have grieved sorely for him, to remain celebate since then."

"Yes.  Also add the 110 days it took me to get to Rivendell from Minas Tireth, 
though when I stayed in a village in Rohan a widow offered herself to me."

"Did you accept her offer?"

"No.  It would not have been honorable to do so.  If she had become with child, 
she would have had a tie to me that I cannot acknowledge.  If we save Gondor, 
then there will be a time when I must wed and sire an heir.  But that time is 
not now, nor does it look like it will ever come.  I did not wish to sow my seed 
without restraint with nothing to offer a child but almost certain death by a 
filthy orc arrow."

"As I said before, Boromir, you are an honorable man."

Boromir's voice changed from post-passion to sadness.  "I am not sure any more, 
Aragorn.  The Ring speaks loudly with the voice of my Father.  It was he who 
sent me on the trip to Rivendell to get the Ring for Gondor.  He said I was 
strong enough to fight the evil, but now that I have felt the call of the filthy 
thing, I am not sure I believe it any more.  I... would not have Ilsidur's fate, 
if I can stay it."

"The Ring is treacherous, Boromir.  It speaks to us all in the voice that is the 
most seductive to each.  I too have felt the fear of repeating Ilsidur's error."  
He paused, then continued, certain this man would understand.  "It is the main 
reason that I chose exile rather than claim my birthright.  The power of the 
ring speaks too strongly to men of my line."

"Will... will you help me when I falter, Aragorn?"

Aragorn leaned over and kissed Boromir gently.  "I will try, my friend, if you 
would do the same for me.  We Men must fight against the evil of our blood while 
the bearer of this thing is among us and under our protection.  Now, sleep in 
peace.  I will keep your Father's voice from whispering to your soul tonight."

The Dunadan felt it as the man he held fell asleep.  Before too long, Aragorn 
followed him into darkness, and for a few hours, the two of them knew peace from 
the siren's call of the Ring and all their other cares.