Title:  The Moral of the Story
Author:  mcguffan anne_robbins@yahoo.com
Rating:  NC 17 
Pairing: A/B
Summary:  Aragorn tells a story about Thorongil and Boromir gets to be jealous of 
Faramir for a change.
Archive:  Please do not archive this without permission.
Notes:  A little feedback would really help my very fragile ego. Please review.
Special Thanks to Sûlien for help with Sindarin.  I really appreciate it.  You’re a ‘vir’:+}


*
Boromir remembered everything.  It was as though he had been drunk.  All the ordinary 
constraints on his behavior had been lifted.  For a few moments he had been free to speak 
without concern for anything save his own feelings.  Then he had been sobered, abruptly, 
painfully.  Fire burned through his nerves leaving a too clear vision of what he had done.  
All those parts of his personality that the Ring had lulled into a gentle haze had jolted into 
the front of his awareness.  He knew what he had done and he would not permit himself 
to shrink from that knowledge:  He had betrayed the fellowship, betrayed Aragorn and 
betrayed himself.

Yet it had been good to kiss Aragorn, touch him, speak to him without forcing himself to 
speak only of what was proper and ignoring what was in his heart.  Boromir felt grateful  
that he finally had been allowed to see Aragorn’s love, his fear even his anger.  What 
might have happened if his lord has answered him in a royal rage at the council?  
Boromir would have understood then.  It was pointless, though, to dwell on what might 
have been.  Ultimately, the warrior could not make himself regret that little space of time 
he had had with his king.  He wished that he had gone about it differently.  If only he 
could have found the courage without the Ring, but what was done was done.  Wishing 
wasn’t going to change anything.  No matter how stupid, no matter how wrong, it was 
done.  Boromir had made his choice and he was prepared to accept the consequences.  
That was what it meant to be a man.

The warrior did not bother paying heed to his surroundings.  He simply walked, turning 
right or left as Aragorn occasionally directed.  It didn’t matter where they were going.  
Boromir knew what had to be done and one place was as good as another as far as he was 
concerned.  He was glad only for the time to collect his thoughts, to prepare himself.  It 
was generous of Aragorn.  Boromir wondered what he might finally say to his king.  
Perhaps he could ask for another kiss.  Surely Aragorn would not begrudge him that.  
Boromir smiled to himself at the thought.  

“Boromir, this is far enough.”  At Aragorn’s words the warrior stopped and turned to face 
his king.  Really now that the time was near, it wasn’t so bad at all.
*
Boromir stood proudly with his head up and back straight.  He had obviously more or 
less recovered from the ordeal.  Aragorn himself still felt shaky but they had walked a 
little more than five miles and the ranger had recovered much.  Even so, in Aragorn’s 
mind it was Boromir who looked the part of king.  His eyes were calm and he seemed at 
peace with himself while Aragorn’s every nerve jangled and he had to concentrate to hold 
himself steady.  There was silence.  Aragorn had no idea how to begin, how to translate 
all that happened into words.  In the end it was Boromir who broke the impasse by 
drawing his sword and offering it hilt first to Aragorn.  

“Would you rather use this?”  The warrior asked thinking that Aragorn might not want to 
sully Anduril with such a task.  “I know you will be quick.”

Aragorn wondered if his senses were working properly.  Did Boromir expect him to 
execute him?  Gods, Aragorn thought he might be sick again.  “None of the fellowship 
were harmed, Boromir.”  Aragorn reassured the man refusing to take the sword.  If 
anyone had been killed then. . . then Aragorn would have had no choice but everyone, 
thank all the Valar, was alive and well.

“Indeed, I am glad not to have descended so far.”  Boromir replied still offering his 
sword.

“I am not going to kill you.”  

“Why not?”  Boromir had the temerity to sound indignant.

“’Why not’, Boromir, why?  No one has died so no one need die.  Is this not bad enough 
without shedding blood over it?”  Aragorn was wounded.  Didn’t Boromir care what it 
would do to the ranger to have to kill him.  He would have done it if Frodo or Legolas 
had been killed but Aragorn knew that he never would have forgiven himself.

“Has the penalty for betrayal, then, become a stern scolding?  You are being weak.”  
Boromir said as harshly as he could.  He did not want mercy.

“I am not so weak that I will be taunted into murder by a selfish child.”  Aragorn stated 
anger clear in his voice.  Boromir sheathed his sword.

“What will you do, then?”  Boromir asked after a long silence.

“It occurs to me that you are needed in Gondor.  The City would have great use for such 
an able commander.  You could do much good there.”  Aragorn might have said that 
Boromir’s family surely missed him but the odd reference to Denethor and Faramir 
earlier persuaded the ranger not to mention them.  “Go home, Boromir.”

“No.”  Though he did not shout he spoke with absolute finality.

“I beg your pardon.”  Aragorn felt he had never had more trouble in a conversation and 
he wondered if it were not some lingering effect of the Ring.

“I won’t go.”  Boromir repeated firmly.

“Only Frodo is under an obligation to see the quest through to its completion.  No oath 
binds you to remain.”  Aragorn reiterated Elrond’s parting words thinking that Boromir’s 
sense of honor might be the obstacle to him returning to his beloved City.

“I know.  I don’t care.  You can kill me if you like but I’m not leaving.  I will return to 
Gondor at your side or not at all.  To do otherwise would be a worse betrayal than what I 
have already done.”

“You will not say such a thing.”  Aragorn commanded, the Ring’s destruction was much 
more important than the ranger’s future in Gondor.  Boromir said nothing but his eyes 
seemed to say:  ‘As you wish, but I’ll think what I please.’

Aragorn was stymied.  Boromir’s return to Gondor was the best solution he had been able 
to think of.  The Ring would be protected and perhaps it was better that he and Boromir 
should separate.  He did not wish to be parted from the warrior but how could he continue 
with the quest when the very sight of Boromir stirred him so deeply.  Apart Aragorn 
could once again become master of his own emotions.  He did not doubt that he would 
always love his proud warrior but he would teach himself to control it.  In the end, 
Boromir would be happier without Aragorn and the ranger wanted the man to be happy.

If Boromir refused to leave, however, then how could Aragorn hope to govern his 
passion.  Avoiding the issue of his growing attraction to Boromir had been enough of a 
problem before but now that they had touched, now that Aragorn had confessed his love 
and Boromir had. . . had done what he had done Aragorn doubted he could control 
himself.  There was the Ring, too.  He couldn’t allow himself to forget that.  The ranger 
had to protect the Ring.  They would have to talk about it.  There was no way around it.  
Aragorn hoped he would be able to get through the conversation without leaping on the 
other man.

“Why did you take the Ring, Boromir?”  The question was not entirely unexpected and 
the warrior had given the answer some thought.

“I told you why.  I love you.”

Aragorn closed his eyes.  It had been the truth.  He had thought so, hoped so but hearing 
it confirmed now made it real.  “Why didn’t you speak if it earlier?”

Boromir shrugged.  “Same reason you did not speak of your love for me, I suppose.”  The 
warrior answered and Aragorn winced.  He could not deny the justness of the rebuke.  
“You do love me, don’t you?”  The question came out in a small voice most unlike 
Boromir’s usual tone.

“Yes.”  Aragorn answered needing to instantly reassure the man.  After a moment more 
the ranger said more carefully:  “I love you.”  Boromir nodded as though that somehow 
made everything all right.

Trying to regain the focus of his concern, Boromir’s susceptibility to the Ring, Aragorn 
continued his questions.  “Why did you speak of Denethor and Faramir?”  What had been 
the Ring’s purpose there?

“The Ring said Denethor wronged you.  I thought it might still grieve you.  I wanted to 
make amends.”  Boromir answered.  In truth the man still wished to make amends.  
Denethor had a lot to answer for and not all was for Aragorn’s sake alone.  “He did 
wrong you, I feel sure.”

The ranger wasn’t entirely certain how to answer.  The fact that Boromir seemed willing 
to take his side in a quarrel with his father was deeply touching but what was the point of 
dredging up the past.  “Some might say so but I should have been more understanding.”

“Will you tell me about it?”  Aragorn’s eyebrows lifted.  He wanted to protect Boromir 
from knowledge that might hurt him or upset him.  Why would he ask to know the cause 
of such an old animosity?  Sensing his lord’s hesitation Boromir went on.  “I want to 
know.  You are not the only one to suffer at his hands and it might make us both feel 
better to speak of it and, after all, is there not love between us.  Should we not confide in 
one another?”

“We started off very much as friends.”  Aragorn began.  He was not in the habit of 
sharing these sorts of thoughts and stories.  He didn’t want to burden another with what 
amounted to his hurt feeling but when Boromir asked he found he could not resist.  
Perhaps it would make them both feel better, Aragorn couldn’t say.  And there was 
indeed love between them.  The ranger was at least assured that Boromir would 
understand.  “Denethor is intelligent and witty though his humor tends toward the 
sarcastic.  I liked him very much and we spent a great deal of time together.”  

“I also spent time with Ecthelion and he, too, became fond of me.  Ecthelion was a very 
warm, affectionate- almost sentimental- man.  He was full of good nature and a genuine 
love for his fellow man.  Denethor’s nature was more subdued and cynical, though you 
must never doubt, Boromir, that there is honor and nobility in your father even if he did 
occasionally behave. . . erratically.  There was tension between father and son and my 
presence made it worse.  If I spent time with Ecthelion Denethor would become angry, 
accusing me of currying favor and I know not what else.  I found it quite distressing but I 
was fond of Ecthelion and I was unwilling to be rude to him to appease Denethor’s 
moods.  I should have been more attune to his concern for the dignity of the stewardship.  
Thorongil was base-born, remember, and it was unseemly for such a one to be too close 
to the center of power.”  At the time Aragorn had even had some notion of bringing 
father and son closer together but all his efforts led to frustration from Ecthelion and 
resentment from Denethor.

“Ecthelion began seeking my company in preference to his son’s.  Denethor disliked 
travel and he always grumbled when the Steward’s family toured through the country to 
show themselves to the people but he had always gone.  Eventually, however, Ecthelion 
stopped asking for Denethor’s companionship preferring me as a traveling companion- 
though officially I served the function of a simple guard.  Denethor never liked these trips 
but he still felt I was usurping his place by his father’s side.  He was angry at Ecthelion 
for cheating him of the respect he felt was owed him and he was angry at me for, well for 
disloyalty and presumption, I suppose- not that he was entirely wrong.  I have since 
learned more discretion.”  There had been countless occasions when Denethor had yelled 
at Thorongil for nothing more than carrying out his duty if that duty so much as took him 
into Ecthelion’s presence.

Matters were made worse by Ecthelion’s habit of greeting his favorite captain with a 
hearty slap on the back and occasionally even a bear hug.  Denethor, in his adolescence, 
had positively forbidden his father from behaving in such a manner towards him, 
disdaining such displays of affection as vulgar and even effeminate.  But that did not stop 
Denethor’s resentment when he saw the two embrace.  Aragorn, for his own part, had 
reveled in the unrestrained fondness of the older man.  It was such a dramatic change 
from anything he had ever known.  Despite his embarrassment he could never fully 
suppress a little thrill of pride when the old steward would clap him on the shoulder and 
boast about him to some lord of the City or minor foreign dignitary.  He had been much 
younger then and he had not become as skilled at cloaking his need for approval.  Though 
all these things occurred to the ranger’s mind he endeavored to keep his account as 
concise as possible.  It seemed to take a great effort to speak of all of these things and 
Aragorn reminded himself that he had to conserve his strength this night.

“I do not know what exactly was said but I heard that it had come to Ecthelion’s attention 
that Denethor had been confiding to some of the more conservative members of the 
council that I had some designs on the position of Captain-general.  A great quarrel 
ensued which had at least as much to do with the Steward’s anger that his son would 
spread tales than any great defense of my reputation but from then on there was never 
anything but stiff courtesy between me and Denethor.  By the time I finally left the guard 
the man could not bear to be in the same room with me.  It grieved me for I believe I 
must have somehow failed Denethor.  I do not know what I might have done but had I 
been stronger or wiser I might have discovered what made such noble a man behave so.”  
The ranger finished looking up to see Boromir gazing at him with sympathy.  The warrior 
did understand.  Somehow that did make Aragorn feel a little better.

“Did the Ring tell you all this?”  Aragorn asked curiously.

“Not so much but I guessed a great deal.”  Boromir replied, sighing a little.  The warrior 
had a sense of how much of a struggle it was for Aragorn to confide in anyone and the 
trust demonstrated by the ranger at such a time by sharing this old disappointment was 
heart-rending.

“Why would it pain you if Faramir and I spent time together?”  Aragorn pursued.  The 
ranger thought it important that both he and Boromir himself come to a thorough 
understanding of all that the Ring had insinuated.  The One seemed to sense any 
misunderstanding among the fellowship and use it to pry the group apart.

“It was that story about Thorongil- Nay, do not look like that.”  Boromir admonished 
seeing Aragorn’s expression darken with self-reproach.  “I- I think that we do more harm 
by not saying enough rather than saying too much.”  Aragorn thought about this a 
moment before nodding for Boromir to continue.  The warrior took a breath.  Honor, and 
the man’s own pride, demanded that Boromir be absolutely honest with his king and yet 
it was not easy to confess the terrible fears the Ring had put into his mind about a 
relationship between his lord and his brother.  Boromir, though, drew upon the fact that 
Aragorn had spoken about his quarrel with Denethor and found courage from Aragorn’s 
shared confidence.

"I thought that, well you might have formed a sort of attachment to Faramir because you 
saw him first.  Then I wondered if there might not be some even greater connection 
between you.  I know it's silly but then I started to think about how well suited Faramir 
would be to you.  You are much alike.  I know Faramir would have recognized you at the 
council.  Have you heard anything about Faramir?  Do you know how the people speak 
of him?"  Boromir watched Aragorn carefully if there was more to the relationship the 
warrior knew the ranger would not hide it from him now.

"I have heard that he is wise and his men love him.  In truth, though, what news I hear 
from Gondor about the steward's family is usually about you.  All the talk is of Boromir 
the Brave, Boromir the Bold, Boromir the Fair."  Aragorn said smiling a little as the 
warrior blushed slightly.

"Well, you hear that because the boy is modest and I am not."  Boromir felt pleased that 
his lord had heard him praised, annoyed that Faramir had not been equally praised and 
relieved that there really did seem to be nothing between Aragorn and his brother.  
"Faramir likes elfish things and old stories and lore and all that lot.  I know that you will 
be great friends but I couldn't bear it if you would choose him over me.  I love you so 
much.  You are all I can think about.  You are the only reason I. . ."  Boromir stopped to 
take a deep breath.  Now was not the time for earnest protestations.  He needed to control 
himself.

"I was jealous.  In all probability I shall be jealous in the future- whatever the future may 
be."  Boromir paused and then added with the faintest of smiles:  "I am jealous but at 
least I seem to come by it honestly."

Aragorn smiled a little too but he was overcome with sympathy.  Again he wanted to go 
to Boromir and hold him.  The warrior seemed to believe that each person had only just 
so much love and to give it to one person meant to withhold if from another.  Nor could 
the ranger say conclusively that Boromir was entirely wrong- at least for some people.  
Aragorn's mother had loved Arathorn to the exclusion of all others.  When he died 
Gilraen's heart died with him and there was nothing left within her to give to her son.  
Suddenly, Aragorn realized he would like very much to tell Boromir a bit about Gilraen- 
but he couldn't, not yet.  They loved each other, Aragorn thought almost angrily, and yet 
as the sun slowly rose in the sky they were standing a formal distance apart talking 
awkwardly of their feelings.  Why weren't they lying together peacefully whispering 
words of endearment and understanding.  It was such an awful waste.

"Boromir, I don't know Faramir."  Aragorn wanted to offer some comfort but he had to be 
careful that he did not sound as though he were lecturing or taking Boromir's feelings 
lightly.  "But even if we were to meet and I were to become very fond of him that has 
nothing to do with how I feel about you.  I love you."  Those words were becoming easier 
to say as he had practice and the light that shone in the warrior's eyes whenever he said 
them was a powerful incentive, too.

"I love you, too."  Boromir responded, soothed somewhat by the ranger's assurances.

"What do we do now, my lord?"  The warrior asked after a little time had passed and the 
morning light had fully penetrated through the trees.  They had said so much and yet 
what did it all mean?  Aragorn could not send him away.  Boromir simply would not go 
but what did that mean for the fellowship?  Boromir wondered if it was possible that 
Aragorn might agree to go to Minas Tirith now to draw the warrior from the Ring.  
Boromir, however, did not dwell on this thought.  It was too wonderful to contemplate 
and would inevitably lead to harsh feeling against Frodo for Boromir felt certain Aragorn 
would not leave the ringbearer's side.

"I know what faith men of Gondor put in their word.  Will you swear to me now to 
forsake the Ring, to make yourself deaf to its call and come to me with anything that 
troubles you?"  Aragorn asked regarding Boromir steadily.

"You would believe my word on such a matter?"  Boromir demanded incredulously.

"Yes."  The ranger had been thinking about what to do since Boromir flatly refused to go 
to Gondor.  Aragorn was coming to believe that Boromir would never have resorted to 
the Ring had he been able to speak more frankly with the warrior.  It was a mistake that 
need not be repeated.

Boromir closed his eyes.  He felt so unworthy.  How could Aragorn trust him in such a 
way?  Boromir would rather die than betray his word to Aragorn, though, and perhaps 
that was why he could be trusted.  Taking a slow breath that nonetheless seemed to catch 
in his throat Boromir opened his eyes to look upon the man he loved.

"The Ring is nothing to me.  You are everything.  I swear it."  With Boromir's final word 
Aragorn began moving towards him.  When he reached the warrior he bent his head and 
touched foreheads with the other man.  Boromir was trembling and doing his best not to 
sob.  Hands crept to shoulders and then arms wound around backs and in a moment more 
the two men were clinging to one another, shuddering as tears flowed from their eyes.

Boromir could have spent forever like that.  Being locked in Aragorn's reassuring 
embrace seemed to drain all the fear and anxiety out of him.  He felt as though he had 
been precariously balanced on the edge of a great precipice and now he was being gently 
led back to safety.  He could relax his constant vigilance a little.  His mind no longer had 
to be everywhere at once and the shadow that had been stalking him had disappeared 
when Aragorn looked at him with the light of love in his eyes.  Boromir wondered if 
maybe just this once they could skip any more talking and just sleep.  He suddenly 
realized that he was very tired.  Stress had eaten away his strength and fear had destroyed 
his appetite.  The warrior knew his thoughts weren’t as sharp as they would be after he 
rested and if he said something stupid now that angered Aragorn or caused the ranger to 
lose his trust in him Boromir would never forgive himself.

Tears still fell silently down Aragorn’s face though he no longer trembled.  Boromir was 
holding him so tightly as though his very life depended on pressing the ranger as close as 
possible.  ‘I almost lost him.  Oh gods, I almost lost him.’  Aragorn thought.  Only now 
with Boromir safe in his arms could Aragorn face the true horror of that possibility.  Even 
now though as the warrior nuzzled against his neck and wept quietly into his shoulder 
Aragorn sensed that more needed to be done.  He had to be a good captain, a responsible 
leader.  Boromir’s actions had endangered them all and though Aragorn understood and 
forgave his beloved it could not be that simple.  Lifting Boromir’s head slightly Aragorn 
kissed him lightly on the lips before taking a small step backward.

Sighing a little dejectedly as the embrace ended Boromir reached out to caress Aragorn’s 
face and eliminate the last trace of tears.  “I know we need talk.  I love you so much, 
Aragorn.  I know you love me but do we have to talk right now?  Let’s. . . let’s rest a little 
first.”

Aragorn smiled and moved his head to brush his lips against Boromir’s fingers but then 
he took another step back and composed his features.  “I do love you, Boromir.  We don’t 
have to talk now if you don’t want to, but we cannot rest until we have completely settled 
last night’s business.”  The ranger spoke firmly, drawing about him the mantle of 
unquestionable authority.

Boromir’s brows drew together in confusion.  He was not certain what the ranger 
intended by this remark.  Before the warrior could formulate a question, however, 
Aragorn seemed to grow taller and more commanding.  Boromir could not suppress a 
little shiver.  Aragorn in the full confidence of his power was the most beautiful, heart-
seizing thing Boromir had ever seen.

“Do you suppose, man of Gondor, that the penalty for betrayal has become a stern 
scolding?”  Aragorn demanded echoing Boromir’s previous taunt.

The warrior’s eyes widened in surprise but very quickly the surprise faded.  Boromir was 
a soldier, after all, he understood that serious breaches of discipline could not go 
unpunished.  Nodding his assent Boromir lowered his eyes and awaited Aragorn’s 
command.

“Strip to your waist and give me your belt.”  The dark haired man instructed.

Boromir complied, not hastily but without any unnecessary delay either.  He supposed as 
he offered Aragorn the long and rather thick leather belt that he had just taken from 
around his middle that if he had been a hobbit it would have been a week on bread and 
water.  Happily the warrior noted that his fingers did not shake nor did he fumble with the 
ties of his longcoat or his heavy, embroidered shirt.  Punishment would purge his sense of 
guilt Boromir reminded himself as he pulled his undertunic over his head and put it with 
his other clothes and tried not think about whether or not Aragorn was appraising him in 
his partial nakedness for beauty.

As Boromir removed his top layers Aragorn walked to the edge of the clearing where a 
large oak grew, tall branches stretching toward the sky.  When he was ready Boromir 
followed him. The warrior understood the ranger’s intention.  Without needing to be told 
he stepped up to the large tree and placed his hands against the broad trunk bracing 
himself against it.  He could do this, he assured himself.  This was nothing that hadn’t 
happened before- though in truth it had been many, many years since anyone had had 
enough authority to discipline the steward’s first born.  It made a difference, too, that it 
was Aragorn of all people who was going to do this to him.  Of course, Boromir didn’t 
think he would allow any save Aragorn to do this.  He wasn’t sure why but that was a 
comforting thought.  He felt safer somehow thinking about Aragorn and his strength.

“Ready?”  Boromir nodded.  Silly question that.  What was he going to say, ‘no’?  Would 
Aragorn stop if he did say ‘no’?  Probably, but the ranger would almost certainly lose 
respect for him and that was worse than any beating could ever be.  Gods, Boromir 
wished Aragorn would hurry.  The warrior felt a fluttering excitement in his stomach that 
was completely different from the dark and heavy anxiety that had been with him for so 
long on this quest.  Why was he so nervous and why as he leaned against the rough bark 
of the tree did he find that he wanted Aragorn to be as harsh as possible, to break him and 
then rebuild him?

The first stroke came down lighting a line a fire across Boromir’s shoulders.  The warrior 
made a soft little gasp, more from surprise than pain he assured himself.  This wasn't so 
bad.  He could endure it easily enough and when it was over he wouldn't have to worry 
that Aragorn looked down upon him or thought him weak.  Boromir would show his king 
what strength he had.

As leather slapped against flesh for the tenth time Boromir was starting to question some 
of his own resolve.  In an effort to distract himself from the fall of the belt Boromir 
ground his forehead into the tree bark hoping the small discomfort would somehow keep 
his mind from the pain in his back.  Aragorn waited between each blow so that Boromir 
could appreciate the full effect before raising the belt and striking again.  When a new 
line burned across an older mark all Boromir's muscles would tense and he would have to 
bite his lip to keep from crying out.  As the beating went on this happened more and more 
often forcing the warrior to exert all his control to keep from dancing away from each 
new lash.

At the twentieth stroke Boromir had abandoned any attempt to keep silent, letting himself 
moan and gasp with the pain as he needed.  It would be enough, the man decided, if he 
could just keep from begging Aragorn to stop.  He wouldn't do that.  He wouldn't.  He 
wouldn't.  The pain was so intense.  It seemed to Boromir that each time the belt fell it 
fell with more force.  The man suspected that he could have borne the pain better if it had 
not been for the ambivalent responses of his own body.  He both wanted to cringe away 
and also lean into the make-shift whip, needing to escape and submit utterly at the same 
time.  Boromir felt that at this time, in this moment he was the complete and absolute 
focus of Aragorn's attention.  This knowledge excited him even as pain threatened to 
overwhelm him.  As much as it hurt the man could not be absolutely certain he wanted it 
to stop.

After twenty-five Aragorn paused.  Boromir had a moment to feel a peculiar mix of 
euphoria and disappointment when the belt descended across Boromir's buttocks.  The 
force behind the new blow was comparable to what had come before but the padded flesh 
of his rump as well at the added protection of his trousers made the pain much less.  All 
the same, Boromir groaned raggedly at the contact.  He was only surprised Boromir told 
himself firmly, resolutely ignoring the sudden surge of blood to his groin.

Though, Aragorn’s new target was giving Boromir less hurt he was squirming a little 
more.  The warrior had tried to count the strokes but quickly lost his place.  He tried to 
recite bits of poems he remembered but he did not remember many and those he did 
remember he could not concentrate on.  Boromir wondered if begging Aragorn might not 
be the lesser of two humiliations as with each new stroke his erection ached as much as 
his back.  It was quickly becoming too much. . . too much.  So focused was Boromir on 
holding his body in check that he had not noticed that no blow had fallen for more than a 
minute.

“That is enough, Boromir.  It is done.”  Aragorn’s soft soothing voice registered very 
close by.  Boromir turned a little opening his eyes to peer into the ranger’s concerned 
face.  Boromir could not help but smile.  He felt exultant as though he had won a great 
victory.  It was over and he had stayed strong.  Seeing his smile Aragorn reached up to 
stroke Boromir’s hair, running his fingers through the dirty, sweat damp blond locks as 
though they were spun gold.

“Here, drink a little.”  Aragorn offered holding up a canteen.  The ranger wanted to help  
Boromir move away from tree he had been clinging to but the warrior seemed reluctant to 
completely face him.  Aragorn worried but decided not to press the man.  After a little 
while Boromir turned on his own and took the offered canteen.

The water was cool and the warrior drank deeply.  Aragorn studied Boromir as he drank 
in thirsty gulps.  The ranger had been so very careful not to draw any blood or do 
anything to make Boromir anything more than sore.  Even so, he had been far from 
gentle.  The warrior, however, had not made any complaint and now seemed completely 
free of resentment.  Aragorn would defy anyone who called his warrior weak.  The Ring 
was not the only challenge in the world, after all.  Maybe it wasn’t even the most 
important.

The ranger wanted to ask Boromir if he was all right but he knew the warrior would be 
grievously insulted if Aragorn did anything that might indicate a lack of confidence in 
Boromir.  The man could be so very stubborn, the ranger though fondly.  Aragorn was so 
lost in admiration for his beautiful Boromir that he did not notice that the other had 
stopped drinking and was now regarding him quizzically.

“Well, Aragorn may I rest now or must we have ‘business’ over what happened in the 
trophy room in Rivendell and at Elrond’s Council?”

It took a moment for Aragorn to realize that Boromir was making a joke.  When 
comprehension finally struck, Aragorn smiled.  He thought he might make an answer in a 
similar spirit but unlike the hobbits and Legolas and Gimli the ranger was not entirely 
comfortable either teasing or being teased so he just said:  “I love you, Boromir.”  By the 
look on the warrior’s face Aragorn did not think Boromir held his lack of wit against him.

“I’m exhausted.”  Boromir announced all the fatigue of earlier catching up with the 
warrior with a vengeance.  As he spoke he let himself lean into Aragorn a little smiling 
into the older man’s chest as the ranger very cautiously put his arms about him.

“Then by all means sleep, my love.  I don’t doubt you’re tired.”  Aragorn wanted to go on 
to say how brave his Boromir was but perhaps it was too early.  It might be mistaken for 
condescension.

“Then we’ll talk about us and about how much we love each other and how nothing will 
ever come between us.”  Boromir said more as a statement than a question and Aragorn 
smiled as he spread out Boromir’s bedroll adding his cloak to the blankets.  Cautiously 
Boromir eased himself down to the ground grimacing at every other movement until he 
was lying on his stomach.

“Aragorn, you are going to have to sleep next to me or I won’t be able to get 
comfortable.”  Boromir informed the ranger from his position on the ground.  Aragorn 
had not intended to go to sleep but there was something about Boromir’s voice that belied 
the rather impudently insistent words and bespoke real need.

Aragorn told himself that he could sleep lightly and a watch was hardly necessary for two 
men in the middle of the day and he lay down beside Boromir.  The ranger was tired, too 
and it would be good to rest together like this.  The blond man maneuvered himself 
around until he was partially on his side and partially on top of Aragorn then he sighed 
and closed his eyes.
*
Boromir slept peacefully, his breath stirring a few strands of Aragorn's hair at steady 
intervals.  'He trusts me' the ranger thought as he felt the weight of the warrior's 
completely relaxed body pressed against him.  'He trust me and yet what have I ever done 
but distress him- him and his family?  I let the Ring play with him because I made myself 
unapproachable.'  That, at least, the ranger vowed, would never happen again.  Even if he 
had to sleep on top of Boromir every night to keep the Ring from him.  Aragorn allowed 
himself to smile at this image and brought his hand up to hover just over the warrior's 
back, just enough to feel the heat but not enough to disturb Boromir.

'And what will happen when my Boromir wakes?  Will all of this seem like some 
nightmare to him?'  Aragorn wondered unaware of the very possessive way he had started 
to think of the blond warrior.  The depth of the other man’s devotion was overwhelming.  
Aragorn could not understand how he came to be given such a gift.  He certainly did not 
feel he deserved it.  The whole situation didn't seem entirely real to the ranger and if it 
were not for the solid, warm bulk of the man lying beside him Aragorn might have tried 
to convince himself he had imagined it all.

'What will Arwen say?'  But even as Aragorn posed the question he realized he was 
avoiding the real issue.  Arwen, as Legolas had suggested, would never object to love.  
Indeed she seemed to expect that her betrothed would find someone in addition to herself 
to give his heart to.  In the beginning this attitude had offended Aragorn.  He felt accused 
of infidelity when he had done nothing to deserve such an accusation.  It was only later 
that Aragorn came to realize that such an idea had never entered Arwen's head.  She 
knew her beloved had needs and desires she could not meet and so she hoped he would 
find another who could.  She saw no fault in him for having these needs nor did she see 
fault in herself for being unable to fulfill them.  It was a view Aragorn had argued 
furiously against insisting that Arwen was his everything.

Arwen had seen more clearly than Aragorn had, though, for in Boromir there was passion 
and immediacy, ferocity and dogged devotion.  Arwen was all softness and gentleness.  
To be with her was to be peaceful and content but not, the ranger began to realize, 
exciting or joyous.  Arwen was quiet and elegant, almost other-worldly.  Hierarchy and 
power meant nothing in his relationship with her.  To compete with her, even to argue 
with her was impossible- like trying to cut water, it could not be done.  Aragorn knew 
that this was what he wanted:  Calm, serenity, tranquility.  Yet, he wanted Boromir, too.  
Was this not the height of selfishness.  In justice his inability to choose between the two 
should have cost him both.

When Aragorn had ordered Boromir to strip to the waist he had told himself that he was 
driven solely by duty.  It had not taken long for him to realize, however, that he had been 
truly angry with Boromir- angry because he had taken the Ring, angry because that action 
had almost meant Boromir would have had to leave, angry because the warrior had been 
so defiant at the Council.  It had been intensely satisfying to punish Boromir.  Aragorn 
had wanted to do so for a long time though he had not understood that until the blond 
man surrendered himself.  Yet, even in the midst of his anger he had felt in control of 
himself.  He had to be lest he truly hurt the warrior.  It was bizarre and the ranger could 
not completely make sense of it.  No one moved him as Boromir did.  No one could 
provoke such strong feelings and touch his heart like the warrior of Gondor.  In a way 
this made Boromir powerful, perhaps dangerously so.

‘I do trust him, though.’  Aragorn thought to himself as he allowed his hand to come up 
and rest on Boromir’s arm.  The warrior sighed in his sleep at the touch.  Smiling though 
he did not open his eyes the ranger let himself fall out of consciousness murmuring:  
“Boromir the Bold, Boromir the Fair, My Boromir.”
*
As Aragorn drifted to sleep the last of the fellowship left at camp woke.  Legolas’ eyes 
focused to see four hobbits, one wizard and one dwarf gazing at him intently.  This gave 
Legolas a bad shock and it took the fellowship several minutes to calm the elf.  The last 
thing Legolas remembered was that Boromir had the Ring and he himself was going to 
try to rescue the man from it.  To be, in the next instant, the subject of intense scrutiny by 
his comrades frightened and disoriented the elf.

When Legolas was himself again he started asking questions.  Everyone save Gandalf, 
who had already explained the whole of what he knew five times, began talking at once.  
There was little true information but the need to repeat everything that was known for 
certain and even to make guesses about what wasn’t known at all was overpowering.  The 
elf’s waking gave the group an excuse to release their worry in a rush of words.  After 
Legolas had heard what there was to hear and added his own brief experience of the night 
before, however, the company once again lapsed into a dismal silence.

“It wasn’t his fault, you know, not really.  It was the horrible Ring that made him do it.  
Surely Strider knows that.”  Pippin burst out when he could stand it no longer.  The 
hobbit looked from face to face but no one made him any answer.

Gandalf sighed.  It had been a very long morning.  Gimli had woken first and it had taken 
all of the wizard’s considerable power of persuasion to keep the dwarf from charging 
after Aragorn and Boromir.  What he meant to do when he found them was not clear but 
Gimli needed to be doing something.  To sit and wait went against his nature.  Next Sam 
woke and his condemnation of Boromir was severe.  Gandalf had to calm the enraged 
hobbit and assure him that Frodo was only sleeping peacefully and no harm had befallen 
him.  Sam allowed that he had never trusted the man and repeated over and over.  “If he 
touched so much as a hair on master Frodo’s head. . .”  The threat was the more dire for 
not being completely expressed.

Pippin woke next and at first he could not be convinced that Boromir had taken the Ring.  
Finally, Sam yelled at him, accusing him in surprisingly harsh terms of having no 
sympathy for Frodo.  In response the youngest hobbit ceased his denials dropping his 
head while big round tears rolled down his little face.  The wizard thought he should try 
and offer some comfort to Pippin but just then Merry woke, no doubt roused in part by 
Sam’s shouting.  Merry was strangely quiet after the situation had been explained and he 
noted his cousin’s tears and Sam’s slight blush of shame.  Gandalf was as disturbed by 
the usually loquacious hobbit’s silence as he had been by Sam’s angry pacing and 
muttered curses.  

The true test had come, however, when Frodo woke, stretching lazily and bestowing upon 
them all a radiant smile.  The hobbit’s happiness, however, quickly gave way to worry 
when he saw the expression of his companions.  The little one wept when Gandalf told 
him he had to take up the Ring once more.  Losing his composure for a moment Frodo 
had begged to be released from his doom explaining almost incoherently that it was too 
much for him; he was just a simple hobbit and he wanted to go back home.  The moment 
of weakness did not last long and Frodo soon collected himself, went over to the remains 
of the fire, put the Ring on a leather cord and placed the One around his neck but Gandalf 
knew for the part he had played in bringing this horror to Frodo the wizard would never 
truly be able to forgive himself.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it.  It’s not fair to blame him.”  Pippin repeated after several 
minutes had passed since his last comment.  Gandalf thought he would have to say 
something to quiet the youngest hobbit before Sam exploded again but Legolas spoke 
before him.

“We all heard the Ring’s call but it was only Boromir who turned against the fellowship.”  
The elf said calmly.  Legolas had been badly frightened by the ease with which the 
warrior had sent him into unconsciousness and part of the harshness of his opinion was 
due to his fear.  The fact that Boromir had chosen to send him into sleep rather than death 
was only a partial mitigation.  Merely being at the mercy of another was horror enough 
for the independent elf.  

Pippin’s face crumpled at Legolas’ words but before the tears started again Gimli spoke:  
“What you say is true, Friend elf, but I think some of us heard the call more strongly than 
others.”  Denied the relief of action by Gandalf’s stern counsel Gimli had resorted to 
thinking and the dwarf found he was not entirely satisfied with his own behavior leading 
up to the night before.

“I saw that Boromir was sorely beset and yet I did nothing save congratulate myself on a 
dwarf’s natural resistance to magic.  Neither am I confronted with the same threats to my 
people.  I might have spoken a word of encouragement or support to Boromir and yet I 
did not.”  This confession gave everyone cause to consider.  It was true.  Each had reason 
to know of the warrior’s vulnerability but none of them had done anything.

“I had thought that he had been reassured by his growing respect for Aragorn.”  Gandalf 
said a little of his frustration seeping through his control.  “I watched him closely, though 
as Gimli reminds me to my shame I was less a friend than I might have been.  I saw his 
fear for his people diminish.  I thought he was beginning to put his faith in Aragorn.  
Why did he not look to his king for aid?  Aragorn would have helped him.”

“He was afraid Strider would reject him.”  Merry answered sadly.  “It would have 
crushed him if Strider didn’t love him back.”

“What do you know of this Master Meriadoc?”  The wizard demanded, very much taken 
aback.

“Boromir was in love with Strider.”  Merry said looking at Gandalf.  Then seeing the 
wizard’s incredulity he turned to the rest of company for confirmation.  “Didn’t you 
know?”

The wizard thought the hobbit might be letting his imagination run away with him but to 
his astonishment the rest of the fellowship was nodding.  Even Frodo appeared to agree 
although he seemed only now to realize it.  “Did Aragorn know?”  Gandalf finally asked 
resisting the urge to throw up his hands.

“I told him.”  Legolas responded miserably.  “I don’t know if he believed me.  I’m afraid 
I treated the matter rather lightly.  It seemed rather amusing that Boromir with all his 
pride would lose himself so entirely to Aragorn.  I did not foresee that love would make 
Boromir even more vulnerable.  Although, I do not know why I didn’t.  It was love of 
Gondor that drove him before.”  The mood of the fellowship which had been leaning 
toward the condemnatory had altered.  A shared sense of responsibility had taken hold of 
the group and each member now believed himself to have taken a small part in the 
calamity.

“Strider isn’t going to hurt Boromir, though.”  Frodo said trying to ease his own growing 
sense of foreboding.  “They’ll just talk, won’t they?  And then they’ll be back tomorrow 
and everything will be all right?”  The ringbearer was looking from face to face for 
encouragement but no one met his gaze.  Finally, Gimli took pity on Frodo and contrived 
to assuage the hobbit’s worst fears.

“I imagine Aragorn will ask Boromir to return to Minas Tirith.  It is dangerous to have 
him here.”  The dwarf had meant his words to be comforting.  After all, it was not beyond 
the realm of possibility that Aragorn would feel it his grim duty to execute Boromir.  
Despite his intention, however, his remark was met with an explosion of grief from 
Pippin.

“That will kill him!  Strider can’t send him away.”  The youngest hobbit sobbed.  Merry 
tried to soothe his cousin but Pippin was inconsolable.

“I- I would hear the Ring sometimes.”  Pippin began through his tears.  “It said that it 
could make it so people didn’t laugh at me quite so much or. . . or yell all the time.  It’s 
not that I want to be stupid all the time but- but it just seems to happen but the Ring could 
fix that.  It would be so nice not always having people mad at me or thinking me such- 
such an awful bother but I knew Strider didn’t yell or laugh and that was a good thought.  
But it was Boromir who was always so very- very good to me.  I know he liked me.  He 
would always try to cheer me up even when no one else wanted to talk to me because I’m 
such a nuisance.  I ignored the Ring because I knew that, well I did do a lot of foolish 
things, but it wasn’t so bad Merry still likes me most of the time and Boromir. . . 
Boromir.  He helped me so much and- and I didn’t do anything to help him with Strider 
even though I knew Strider would be kind if Boromir would only- only talk to him. . .”  
The hobbit dissolved into helpless sobs once more and Merry hugged him.

The rest of the fellowship was stunned.  Here was another of their company in great 
distress that no one had bothered about.  It was time for them all to do some serious 
thinking.  As Pippin continued to cry into his cousin’s chest Gandalf finally managed to 
murmur:  “I’m so sorry, Pip.”  Still trembling with tears the hobbit broke away from 
Merry and hugged the wizard tightly.
*
The late afternoon sun shone down as Boromir watched his sleeping king.  The warrior 
thought he must have been truly exhausted to ask the ranger to lie down next to him and 
then to speak almost childishly of the future.  Aragorn, though, had not seemed to mind.  
He was probably exhausted himself for he had lain down beside Boromir and now he 
slept half beneath the warrior- his face tranquil yet with something still of its usual 
sternness.  Boromir could not help but wonder what that face would look like lost in 
passion.  Did Aragorn even lose himself in passion?  The warrior wished very much to 
find out. 

Boromir had had time to think as he studied the beloved countenance of Aragorn.  The 
experience with the Ring- though terrifying- had been enlightening.  He knew Aragorn 
loved him.  The One had tempted Aragorn with Boromir himself!  It had nearly worked 
and the warrior understood too that it had been distrust of the Ring rather than a lack of 
desire for Boromir that had decided the matter.  Now that Boromir knew, knew that 
Aragorn cared for him, he would not retreat into himself again.  He would keep his lord’s 
love, fight for it if he had to, but he would do it on his own.  Rather than gaining him 
Aragorn the Ring had almost caused Boromir to lose him.

These thoughts were beginning to agitate Boromir somewhat and he found it necessary to 
reach out and stroke Aragorn’s shoulder and chest.  Even through the ranger’s clothes the 
warrior could feel the warmth of the other man and was calmed.  Boromir’s movements 
also served to make the warrior aware of the ache in his back, shoulders and buttocks.  
Suppressing a soft moan- for he enjoyed looking at Aragorn asleep too much to wish him 
awake quite yet- the man reminded himself to be careful.  The physical pain was so much 
easier, so much more comprehensible than the pain in his head and heart had been and 
Boromir again found himself peculiarly grateful for it.

Aragorn would never have punished Frodo in such a way, no matter what the hobbit did.  
He would have thought him too fragile to endure it or even too child-like to be held to 
any standard of accountability.  Neither could Boromir really see Legolas able to draw 
such an intense reaction from Aragorn.  It was Boromir alone who could truly make his 
beloved feel and this was such a wonderful idea that the warrior had to struggle not to 
laugh.  He wanted to see Aragorn joyful, excited, delighted and happy and know that he 
was the cause.  Boromir also wanted to help Aragorn learn to feel his anger.  The warrior 
knew that people, elves mostly, didn’t take Aragorn as seriously as he deserved and the 
man wanted his lord to teach the mincing creatures to fear his wrath.

Not that Boromir himself ever wanted to make Aragorn angry but he thought he might 
annoy him occasionally just as a reminder that he was not so easy to domesticate.  
Perhaps he could provoke his Aragorn into kissing him into docility.  Now that was an 
idea.  The warrior saw himself pestering his lord walking around him in circles, tugging 
on his sleeve and generally acting like Pippin whenever the hobbit wanted attention.  The 
thought of Pippin, however, brought Boromir out of his pleasant daydreams.  The little 
one would almost certainly hate him for what he had tried to do.  Nor could Boromir 
blame the little hobbit.  The warrior would do everything he could to win back the 
cousins’ respect but he had momentarily allowed himself to forget that not only did he 
have to face the fellowship he still had not finally settled matters with Aragorn.  Though 
the two were lying next to each other- indeed Boromir was half on top of Aragorn- they 
still needed to talk.  Suddenly Boromir needed Aragorn to tell him that he loved him and 
that they would always be together.  Unless he could be assured of that nothing else 
mattered.

“What troubles you, Boromir?”  Aragorn asked reaching out to smooth the warrior’s hair.  
Alerted somehow by the change in the tension of Boromir’s body and the anxiety in the 
pressure of the warrior’s fingers against his chest Aragorn had come awake and now 
regarded the worried man on top of him with compassion and concern.

“Aragorn, please let me be your baron tide.  I love you so much.  I must have a place in 
your life.”  There were spots of color in Boromir’s face as he leaned down on Aragorn 
clutching him insistently.

“My what?”  Aragorn asked as he pressed the back of his hand to Boromir forehead, at a 
loss to understand why his warrior had suddenly started speaking in nonsense syllables.

“Your berth tithe”  The blond man repeated earnestly, removing the ranger’s hand from 
his forehead and returning it to its former place in his hair so that Aragorn could resume 
stroking.  “I don’t care that it means whore.  I don’t give a damn what people say.  I want 
to be with you.”

Aragorn looked confused for a moment, although he did return to stroking Boromir’s 
hair.  Then the pieces fell into place.  “Do you mean ‘bereth taid’?  That does not mean 
whore, dearest.  I don’t think there is a Sindarin word for whore.”

“Consort, then.  I don’t care.  Just agree, will you.”  Boromir felt overcome with urgency.

“Where can you have heard ‘bereth taid’?”  Aragorn considered trying not to let himself 
be unbalanced by the other man’s insistence.  “Boromir!  You were listening to me and 
Legolas talk, weren’t you?”  The ranger demanded as he tried to think of everything he 
and the elf had discussed the day before.

“I was sleeping when I was awakened by Legolas having a tremendous chuckle at my 
expense.”  Boromir explained trying and failing not to sound defensive.  “No one enjoys 
a good laugh more than me so I though ‘why interrupt the fun’ and I stayed where I was.  
It’s not as though I meant to go spying.”

“Legolas wasn’t laughing at you, my love.  Do not be offended.  If anything he was 
laughing at me.”  Aragorn tried to soothe as he wished that he had spoken of his 
appreciation and admiration for Boromir with Legolas but he had not wished to reveal too 
much of his heart.  Even if the greatest danger had only been a little teasing.

“That, my lord, doesn’t make it any better.  In fact it makes it worse.  Cocky elves!  
Though I daresay I’d be smug too if I never had to deal with hunger, sickness or fatigue.  
I don’t begrudge them their flowers or their songs but they don’t show anything like the 
proper respect for what it means not to have everything handed to you.”  These thoughts 
had been a long time suppressed and now they were surging out with the force of a tidal 
wave.  “Elrond is another example.  He is awfully high and mighty for a half-breed.  
Humanity was good enough for his father and his brother and it’s good enough for his 
daughter, too.  There is no shame in being human and if a man has less than an elf, well, 
at least the man earned everything he has.  Pointy ears isn’t what makes one person better 
than another.”

“Boromir, hush!”  Aragorn commanded when he was able to find his voice.  Boromir 
who had finished his little rant in any case looked down upon his lord with some chagrin.  
He wasn’t about to apologize, though.  He had meant every word.

“You must not speak that way about lord Elrond.  All of this has caused him a great deal 
of pain and he has been as a father to me.”  Aragorn explained.  The ranger knew that 
Boromir’s annoyance at Legolas was just the result of the elf’s teasing and perhaps even 
a bit of jealousy.  When Boromir was over his pique Aragorn thought he would have to 
admit Legolas had been a fine companion and a steadfast friend.  To his own surprise, 
however, the ranger was not really angry about the words directed against Elrond.  He 
defended his foster father more out of a sense of duty than anything else.  Could it be that 
Aragorn was also just a little angry at Elrond.  Immediately the ranger felt ashamed.  It 
would be ungrateful to ever question Elrond.

“You deserve better from him.”  Boromir said quietly.  He wouldn’t argue if Aragorn 
didn’t want him to but it had to be said if only the one time.  Aragorn was silent for a 
while as he freed himself, very gently, from Boromir’s restraining weight and turned to 
lie on his side.  He watched the warrior who, though nervous, was determined not to be 
intimidated.  One of the things Aragorn loved about his warrior was his complete, almost 
deliberately, undiplomatic honesty.  He was not troubled by Boromir’s attitude- though 
the warrior really did need to learn a bit of tact.  Even so, he found Boromir’s occasional 
tirades a bit endearing.  What did trouble Aragorn was the confusion the warrior’s 
indictment stirred up in his own heart.  He could now see that a small part of him was 
angry and frustrated by all the cruel words spoken by one who had claimed to love him.  
Aragorn did not know what to do with this part of himself so he simply gazed at Boromir 
until finally deciding there were more important matters to deal with at the present.

“I love you, Boromir, but do you really want to talk about Elrond right now?”  Aragorn 
asked softly.

“No!”  Boromir replied immediately and with some relief.  “I love you, too.”  The man 
added after a moment on the principle that the words could not be said often enough to 
express his feeling.

“If- if we do pursue this, it will be harder on you.  I need hardly remind you that your 
father will disapprove.  I cannot leave Arwen.  I don’t want to.  She will pose no obstacle 
herself but it still leaves you in a difficult position.  Can you accept Arwen?  Can you- 
oh! how can I even ask you that?”  Aragorn broke off in self-disgust as he tried to get up 
so he could move away from the man he loved.

Boromir, however, had paid scant attention to Aragorn’s words after the first sentence.  
The warrior struggled to match the ranger’s movements ignoring the protests of his body.  
Then, reached out to take hold of Aragorn’s shoulders before the ranger could come to 
his feet.  “What do you mean ‘if’?  There is no ‘if’.  Are you thinking ‘if’?  Gods, 
Aragorn we must pursue this.”  The suddenness of Boromir’s reaction had taken Aragorn 
by surprise and disrupted his balance.  He only just managed to fold his legs underneath 
him before Boromir’s weight brought him down to a sitting position.

“Be easy, love.”  Aragorn implored prying the frantic man’s fingers from his shoulders so 
he could hold his hands.  “I said ‘if’ because I didn’t want to speak for you.  What I said 
is true:  This won’t be easy for you.  But don’t ever doubt I love you and I want to be 
with you.”  Boromir weighed this explanation carefully and he was partly mollified, 
though the little word ‘if’ still rankled.  He lived for the future where Gondor was safe 
Aragorn was king and Boromir was his most beloved subject.  That future had to be 
certain.  There could be no ‘if’.

“I don’t expect it to be easy but as hard as it will be, trying to live without you would be 
worse.”  Boromir replied trying to settle himself in such a way that his aching body could 
be comfortable.  “My father knows of my preference for men.  As long as I said I was 
willing to take a wife and father a few brats he is not concerned.  Of course, he won’t be 
pleased I’ve taken up with you, but he’ll much angrier about your claim to the throne 
than your claim to me.  It will be all right, though.  I won’t say Denethor has mellowed 
with age because he hasn’t but he’s tired and he’s not as ambitious as he used to be.”  
Boromir said taking the most optimistic view of Denethor’s possible reaction.

The warrior took a deep breath.  He wanted to deal with all the obstacles Aragorn had 
suggested in his awful ‘if’ comment logically and coolly but Arwen was a difficulty.  
Boromir did not really want to share.  He knew he would not have been able to accept 
another man.  That would have been too much.  Not that he would have stepped aside for 
another man.  Combat to the death seemed the better solution.  A woman, though, was 
different.  Besides Arwen did love Aragorn.  She would die for him.  That was reassuring 
to Boromir for if he had to share then the other had to be worthy.  Besides, someone had 
to give birth to Aragorn’s children.  “I can accept Arwen.  I know she must be queen.  I- I 
want you to be happy and if you love her then- then I will try to be her friend.”

Aragorn wrapped his arms around the warrior and pressed him tightly to his chest.  “Oh, 
Boromir, I’m so sorry to ask this of you.”  The ranger said softly kissing the warrior’s 
head.  “I know it’s not fair.”  Boromir allowed himself to be hugged tipping his head up 
to encourage Aragorn to let his kisses fall on the warrior’s face.  He was grateful to have 
Aragorn’s love- even if he did have to share.  Boromir hoped that his king would feel less 
guilty when he saw how happy both his lovers would be to have him.  After resting a bit 
longer in Aragorn’s loose embrace Boromir started kissing the other man back, gently 
running his tongue over the ranger’s lips.  Sighing Aragorn let his own tongue flick out to 
meet Boromir’s.

Neither man was content to be merely playful for long, however.  Aragorn had begun 
running his palms over Boromir’s naked chest, kneading the taut flesh almost roughly.  
The warrior had begun to moan into Aragorn’s mouth as he enjoyed the forceful 
handling.  Boromir’s own hands were struggling with Aragorn’s shirt tugging violently at 
the laces in an effort to hurry the process.  When the shirt was finally removed the two 
moved closer together.  Aragorn still mindful that Boromir was sore let his hands drift 
lightly down the other’s back, even though he dearly wished to take the warrior in a 
crushing embrace just as Boromir was embracing him.

“You know, dear, that there will be talk in Gondor because you are with me.”  Aragorn 
said a little breathless from the fierce kisses he had been pressing upon his warrior and 
Boromir’s burning responses.  He would have preferred to keep kissing, to continue 
delving into the hot depths of Boromir’s mouth but responsibility was too firmly 
ingrained in the ranger not to discuss all the worst stumbling blocks the two men were 
likely to encounter.  Even so, as he talked Aragorn kept one arm tightly around Boromir’s 
waist while he used the other to roam over the muscles of the other man’s thighs.

“What?”  Boromir asked.  He couldn’t really remember what they were supposed to be 
talking about for a moment but then he snorted into Aragorn’s neck.  It was a ticklish 
sensation and Aragorn responded by licking all the way down the lobe of the warrior’s 
ear.  Boromir promptly lost the strain of conversation once again as the blood deserted his 
brain to rush to his already hardening penis.  It was several moments before the man 
could again concentrate on conversation.  “What does the prattle of idlers and the gossip 
of fools mean to me.  Let them talk.”

“Take this seriously, my love.  Not only your honor but also your merit will be 
impugned.  I don’t want you exposed to malice for my sake.”  Aragorn worried, although 
he could not quite bring himself to stop nipping gently at Boromir’s ear.  The warrior had 
a visceral impact upon his king.  Aragorn never felt so entirely human as when he was 
with Boromir and his self-control was always tested with his beloved warrior.  The ranger 
wished he could be stronger but the scent of the other man, the sweetness of his skin and 
the heat of him were tempting Aragorn into actions he still felt were too selfish.

“Aragorn, for the gods’ sake.  I love you.  I would give my life for you.  I don’t give a 
damn how nasty the rumors are.  Can’t you see your torturing me with all this?  Just let 
me love you. That’s all I want.  That’s all I need.”  Boromir was frustrated.  Aragorn 
seemed to be pushing him away and he didn’t know why.  Aragorn was everything to 
Boromir: the preservation of his people, his king, his beloved, his brother’s protector. . .  
This last thought stopped the warrior a moment.  Why hadn’t he thought of that earlier?  
Aragorn had saved Faramir’s life as a child and when the king came to Minas Tirith 
Faramir would be freed from Denethor, given duties that would take advantage of his 
talents and finally find a master he could respect.  There would be a strong bond between 
the two but it would be essentially paternal.  It was so obvious.  How had he missed it?  
Shaking his head at his own slow wits the warrior continued to puzzle over why Aragorn 
seemed to be distancing himself.  Boromir would do whatever Aragorn’s love required 
why couldn’t his beloved trust that.

“I want you to be sure.  Arwen will die because of me and I am afraid of what evil will 
befall you for my sake.”   During Boromir’s tirade both men had retreated and each now 
sat back on his heels facing the other but as Aragorn spoke he reached out to touch 
Boromir’s face.  “If you were miserable because you chose to be with me I don’t think I 
would be able to stand it.  I love you, Boromir and I know you love me but my love still 
might not be enough to make you happy.”

“Please don’t say that.  Please don’t.”  Boromir begged as he mentally berated himself for 
so badly misunderstanding the nature of Aragorn’s reluctance.  “You are my happiness.  
Trust me, Aragorn.  I do not mislead you.”  Boromir had reached out both hands to cradle 
his lord’s face.  He leaned forward as he pulled gently trying to bring the other man to 
him.  There was a moment’s resistance then Aragorn moved forward.  Mouth met mouth 
and suddenly Boromir was sucking hungrily on the ranger’s tongue while Aragorn 
pushed hard into the warrior mouth with insistent, demanding thrusts.  Still sharing 
searingly intense kisses Aragorn started pushing Boromir backward onto the ground but 
he stopped suddenly and instead clasped the warrior gently around the waist bringing him 
down on top of his own body.  When the kisses finally slowed then ceased both men were 
flushed and their breathing was quick and shallow.

“Of course,”  Boromir husked looking into Aragorn’s face with naked hunger. “if I do get 
my feelings hurt by all the blather in Gondor there is an easy solution.”  Now it was 
Aragorn’s turn to be somewhat lost.

“Mmm?  What would be your solution, then?”  The ranger inquired eventually not 
bothering to stop nipping and licking at Boromir’s collar bone.

“I could just starting having scandalous affairs with the wives of the chief rumor-
mongers.”  Boromir announced trying not to sound too pleased with himself.

“You will not!”  Aragorn commanded suddenly shifting them both on to their sides.  He 
would have continued until he had Boromir on the ground firmly beneath him but he 
restrained himself.  Instead he took hold of the man’s chin and stared intently into the 
warrior’s face.

“Why should I not, my lord?”  Boromir asked trying not to grin as Aragorn squeezed his 
arm in a powerful grip.  It was the tone of the warrior’s voice, excited yet struggling to 
seem demure, that finally warned Aragorn that he had been trapped.  Gracefully 
acknowledging defeat he loosened his grip and kissed Boromir lightly on the forehead.

“Because the thought of you dallying with various women of the City makes me wild 
with jealousy.  That is why.”  Aragorn said honestly.  Boromir was doing his best not to 
crow with delight as he pushed himself towards Aragorn rocking his body against the 
ranger while he caressed the man’s side.

“I’m glad you would be jealous.  I want you to want me all to yourself.”  Boromir purred 
moving his hand lower to rest against Aragorn’s clothed hip.  The warrior was still 
pitching gently against his beloved’s body as he began moving his knee up and down the 
ranger’s thigh.

“If you were to truly fall in love, Boromir, then I would try to understand.”  Aragorn said 
carefully, automatically responding to the warrior’s motion by swaying into him thus 
creating a maddeningly delightful friction.  Boromir’s only answer was to bring his lips 
down hard upon Aragorn’s, drowning out all thought of any potential others.  There 
would be no one else for Boromir.  He knew it in his soul.  He had only wanted to see his 
lord’s eyes burn with possessive fire.  They had and Boromir had been consumed.

Boromir had brought his knee up to Aragorn’s hip by this time, his legs open wide in 
welcome.  Aragorn desperately wanted to move his beautiful warrior onto his back, kiss 
his way down his chest and then let his lips and tongue explore the very center of the 
man.  He needed to feel the man beneath him, safe and solid, as though Boromir were the 
foundation of the world itself.  Aragorn wanted to have Boromir trembling with all the 
passion and desire he knew he could elicit from him.  Finally he wanted to sheath himself 
inside his beautiful Boromir.  He wanted to watch Boromir give himself up entirely to his 
beloved and to know at that same moment just how much Aragorn loved him in return.  
Yet Aragorn would not forget his warrior’s great pride or the fact that Boromir’s body 
must still ache with the beating he had received only that morning.  Thus, Aragorn 
remained on his side as he pulled Boromir’s leg more tightly around him and burned the 
other man with his kisses.

Groaning harshly under the fiery assault of Aragorn’s mouth and tongue Boromir 
struggled to loosen his beloved’s trousers.  Aragorn was exercising far too much restraint 
in the warrior’s opinion.  He needed to have his lord oblivious to everything in the world 
except claiming him but it was so awkward lying side by side.  Boromir wished Aragorn 
would move on top of him.  He wanted to see Aragorn bracing above him filling his 
vision, then filling the hunger of his body.  With a final harsh tug the warrior succeeded 
in pulling Aragorn’s trousers down his hips and revealing his straining shaft.  Boromir 
took the hard flesh in both hands and a shudder went through both men.  

Caution finally abandoned Aragorn when he felt his beloved’s hands grasp his sex and 
with a cry he finally pushed Boromir onto his back so he could thrust down hard into the 
man’s hands.  Immediately the warrior wrapped his legs around Aragorn’s thighs and 
increased the speed of his pumping hands.  Boromir, however, could not stifle the small 
wince of pain that he felt when the welts and raised marks on his back impacted the hard 
ground.  The ranger whose attention was equally fixated on the great pleasure pulsing 
through his body and the man who was the cause of such extraordinary feelings saw 
Boromir grimace and instantly knew the reason.  With a muttered curse the ranger tried to 
lever himself off the other man but the warrior’s strong legs held him down.  Also 
Boromir brought one arm up and around Aragorn’s neck dragging him down into a kiss.

For several moments Aragorn fought but Boromir clung to him tenaciously.  It was 
difficult to struggle against the heavily muscled legs that squeezed his thighs, the 
powerful hand that grasped him as easily and naturally as the hilt of a sword and the arm 
that kept him locked into a searing kiss but Aragorn tried.  He did not want Boromir to be 
in pain because of him.  He had done what he felt he had to do but now he wanted his 
warrior to know nothing but pleasure and happiness.  Yet as Aragorn continued to try and 
pull away it became increasingly apparent that his Boromir did not want him to get up.  
The warrior seemed to pull him down as inescapably as gravity.  He was so strong, so 
irresistible.  With a great groan Aragorn gave up his resistance and began answering 
Boromir’s kisses with long aggressive strokes of his tongue even as he began to squeeze 
Boromir’s erection through his trousers.

Realizing that Aragorn was no longer attempting to leave him or coddle him like a hobbit 
and frantic with the feel of Aragorn’s hand through his clothes Boromir released his hold 
around the ranger’s neck and went back to pushing his trousers further down.  The 
motion of Aragorn’s hips as he rocked into the warrior’s other hand helped and soon 
Boromir was gripping the naked flesh of Aragorn’s buttocks.  Shifting at the new contact 
Aragorn began to squeeze and rub Boromir’s fully swollen penis more insistently.  The 
warrior’s hand spasmed around Aragorn causing the ranger to curse while the combined 
pressure of his trousers and Aragorn’s hand made Boromir thrash and buck as though he 
was about to burst.

With a great effort Aragorn pushed himself up onto his knees.  Boromir moaned and tried 
to wrap his legs around the ranger’s waist to bring him back down.  “Gods, my love.  A 
moment, just a moment.”  Aragorn pleaded as he kicked off his boots and finished 
removing his trousers.  Seeing his intentions Boromir let his legs fall on either side of 
Aragorn and watched the man through heavily lidded eyes.

“So beautiful.”  Boromir murmured to himself as he saw his king naked, flush with 
sexual excitement and glistening with sweat.  Whenever he had imagined this it had 
always been under the cover of night- the two lovers cloaked in shadow.  The truth of 
caressing Aragorn’s naked body under the light of the sun struck Boromir with incredible 
poignancy:  ‘He is not ashamed of me.’  The warrior thought to himself in wonder.  ‘He 
is not ashamed of us.’  The blond man did not have long to lie back lost in admiration, 
however, for in the next moment his own boots were being tugged off.  Then, Aragorn 
unlaced Boromir’s trousers and slid them slowly down his hips, freeing the warrior’s 
painfully hard erection.  The rough cloth was tugged all the way down Boromir’s legs 
and then off.  In the next, instant Aragorn had bent down and taken the tip of Boromir’s 
penis into his mouth.

Unmindful of anything but the sight and feel of Aragorn’s tongue whisking around the 
head of  his shaft Boromir screamed.  Aragorn was smiling.  Boromir could feel the slight 
curve of his lips against him and the warrior had to bury his hands in Aragorn’s hair just 
so he could touch him and connect with him in another way.  The ranger kept a firm hold 
on Boromir’s hips to keep the desperate man from slamming hard into the back of his 
throat and then he took more of the warrior into his mouth.  The skin was soft like velvet 
over steel.  Aragorn loved the smell and taste of his beloved warrior.  Elves had such a 
mild scent and flavor.  It was always pleasant but somehow it was hard to connect the 
sensations with a living, breathing, passion-crazed being.

Still pinning the blond man’s hips Aragorn drew little circles around his skin with his 
fingers even as he licked up and down Boromir’s sex.  Very gently he scraped his teeth 
over Boromir’s skin, smiling again at his warrior’s desperate hiss of indrawn breath.  All 
this while Boromir had been alternately murmuring and shouting semi-incoherent words 
and phrases, calling on the gods and his king for mercy and screaming his love of 
Aragorn for the world to hear.  Boromir’s cries heightened Aragorn’s urgency and the 
ranger increased the pace, swallowing the rigid shaft and letting his throat vibrate around 
it.  It was too much for Boromir and with a strangled groan he released himself into 
Aragorn’s mouth.  Continuing to suck gently Aragorn swallowed the hot, salty fluid.

Boromir felt the aftershocks of pleasure sing through him.  With his much diminished 
strength he moved his fingers through Aragorn’s hair.  He needed to have his hands on 
him in some way or he felt he would float away.  Boromir was no stranger to the ways of 
love between warriors and as Gondor’s captain-general he was especially aware of the 
protocol between a superior and a subordinate officer.  Aragorn’s actions, then, had taken 
him completely by surprise.  His king had seen to his needs first and been more generous 
about it then Boromir could have imagined.  The warrior loved Aragorn so much.  He 
would have put aside his pride for the ranger.  Boromir would have gotten down on his 
knees and kissed Aragorn’s feet for the chance to give him pleasure yet Aragorn had not 
required this.  Again Boromir thought how it must be the mission of the rest of his life to 
be worthy of his king.

Boromir’s hands had slipped from Aragorn’s hair and lay somewhat limply around his 
shoulders as the ranger moved up his body and gently cradled the spent man.  The keen 
demand of Aragorn’s own arousal was made tolerable by the rush of tenderness he 
suddenly felt for Boromir who had turned into his chest and nuzzled against him.  As he 
caressed him, sprinkling light kisses on his head and the tops of his shoulders Aragorn 
could not help but see the angry red lines that decorated Boromir’s back.  Starting at his 
shoulders, stripes of crimson were swollen to ridges but the welts faded to a gentle pink 
as they descended down across the man’s buttocks and his upper thighs.  It disturbed the 
ranger that the sight sent a sudden jolt of heat to his groin while his balls tightened.  He 
could not help but think that in a strange way he had marked Boromir as his own so that 
all would know and recognize the claim.  Shaking his head abruptly he left that train of 
thought and concentrated on tasting the little trickle of sweat that had beaded at the man’s 
temple.

For several moments Boromir allowed himself to bask contentedly in Aragorn’s arms.  
He felt so mindlessly happy tucked into the man’s chest feeling gentle hands explore his 
body and a warm tongue lapping the side of his face.  As Boromir recovered, however, 
his passion return with great force.  Resting his head against Aragorn’s chest the warrior 
saw that he was within easy striking distance of the ranger’s left nipple.  Snaking his 
tongue out the blond man swiped it across the tiny bud experimentally.  The reaction was 
immediate as Aragorn moaned softly and the hands still roving over Boromir’s body 
stilled.  Pleased Boromir licked again this time pressing his tongue gently into the tightly 
furled flesh.  Aragorn made another appreciative noise so Boromir continued finding 
himself harden quickly as he listened to the ranger’s soft groans and tasted his salty flesh.  
Boromir appeared to grow more skillful with each passing second.  By the time the 
warrior had finished with the left nipple and then lavished generous attention on the right 
Aragorn was quivering with desperate need.

“Boromir.”  Aragorn called, his voice strained and husky.

“Yes, my king?”  The man answered placing one last soft kiss on Aragorn’s chest before 
looking up into the ranger’s face.

“Boromir. . .”  Aragorn repeated gazing back into his beloved’s eyes.  The warrior smiled 
slightly as he waited for what his lord would say.

“Boromir, my love, I want. . .”  To his own consternation the ranger was having difficulty 
expressing what it was he wanted.  He had an image of it in his head, a very clear image, 
yet he was strangely reticent.

“Yes, me too.”  Boromir answered as an expression of rapturous happiness transformed 
his face.  “Do it.”

“You have not heard what I would say, beloved.”  Aragorn replied still cautious, though 
Boromir’s eager agreement had sent his pulse racing.

“It doesn’t matter, Aragorn, my love, my lord.  I want it.”  There was no hesitation in the 
warrior’s voice.  A game of dice would be the most powerfully exciting, intensely erotic 
thing in the world to Boromir if only it was something Aragorn wanted, wanted so badly 
he had trouble saying it.  “Anything.  I’ll do anything. . . but I would like to hear you say 
it.”  The warrior blushed a little at the request and he was surprised that any blood could 
be spared from his groin.

“Boromir, I want to come inside you.  I want to feel your body surround me.  I want to 
lose myself in you.”  Aragorn spoke in a low throaty whisper that had been stripped of 
everything but love and need.  Small pleading moans broke over Boromir’s lips as he 
listened to Aragorn confess his desire.

“Yes, oh yes.”  Boromir breathed out, his whole body quivering with uncontrollable 
tension.  He had wanted this for such a very long time.  Did he dare believe it was 
actually going to happen?  Again the warrior moaned.

The sounds Boromir was making sent Aragorn’s head whirling.  Gods, Boromir was 
beautiful.  How would the ranger be able to hold back from hurting him with the 
fierceness and the violence of his passion?  For a moment Aragorn thought he must run, 
he must escape; he did not dare expose his beloved to the sort of madness he felt welling 
up in him.  Whether or not Boromir read his intentions in his eyes or was motivated 
solely by his own need the warrior leaned into Aragorn kissing him hard.  All thought of 
retreat disappeared from the ranger’s mind and instinct took over.  He kissed Boromir 
savagely, pushing the warrior onto his back and straddling him as he pushed deep into 
Boromir’s open mouth.

Boromir gripped Aragorn ardently, fingers biting harshly into the man’s shoulders.  The 
throbbing in his back did nothing to diminish the warrior’s desire- if anything the dull 
ache made Boromir crave the intensity that he knew would come when Aragorn finally 
pierced him.  The warrior’s erection had fully returned and the more ruthlessly Aragorn 
stabbed into his mouth the more Boromir writhed against the man on top of him, needing 
contact.  How he loved Aragorn, his strength, his power, his mastery.  Everything his lord 
was doing to him sent the warrior skating on the edge of ecstasy.  Boromir knew that if 
he was somehow kept from this, from Aragorn, from his love then he would surely die.

When Aragorn had at last satisfied himself that he held complete dominion over every 
hidden part of Boromir’s mouth he broke the kiss.  There was a ragged sound as both 
men gasped for air then Aragorn was licking Boromir’s face, tasting his sweat.  The 
warrior stretched and twisted trying to get as much of himself under Aragorn demanding 
tongue as possible, all the while making urgent, pleading sounds he hardly recognized as 
coming from his own throat.

“How. . . how would you be most at ease love, my own, my Boromir?  I think we must be 
careful of your back.”  Aragorn asked between licks.  He wanted his beloved to be as 
comfortable as possible.  With Boromir’s enthusiastic response to his aggressive passion 
Aragorn knew there would be no holding back.  It seemed almost impossible to Aragorn 
that he had not been pushed away or been given some other sign that his lack of 
gentleness was unappreciated.  Not only had that not happened but Boromir seemed as 
frantic as he was himself.  Again the ranger experienced an instant’s doubt but the 
warrior’s clutching fingers reminded him of Boromir’s strength and vigor.  If he was to 
do this then, Aragorn needed to have his beloved in a position that would not only give 
him the most pleasure but also spare him distress. 

Boromir had never in his own many and varied sexual encounters been asked such a 
question nor had he himself asked any of his partners their preference.  What a strange 
and wonderful creature was this man who loved him.  With sudden realization Boromir 
knew that there would never come a time when Aragorn would not stop if Boromir asked 
him to.  Whatever the ranger might believe of himself Boromir knew it was simply not in 
him to forget himself in pleasure so much that he truly hurt someone he loved.  The 
warrior wondered if the same could be said of him and he remembered clutching the Ring 
tightly, watching Aragorn’s naked fear and anger as he approached desperate to kiss his 
beloved lord.  Boromir shivered slightly at the memory.

“What’s wrong?  Boromir, my love, what’s wrong?”  Aragorn demanded panic edging 
his voice.  The ranger had seen the warrior’s little frisson of remembered shame and 
become instantly alarmed.  Boromir let out an involuntary moan of self-disgust.  Once 
again he had caused his beloved king to doubt himself.

“Nothing, love.  Nothing.”  Boromir reassured.  “Here, come kiss me.”  Hesitantly 
Aragorn did kiss him.  Boromir did everything he could to deepen the kiss, sucking the 
ranger’s tongue into his mouth and making soft cooing sounds.  “Take me, Aragorn.  
Ravish me.  I want to feel you moving inside me.  I need you to push hard into me- as 
hard as you can, love, please.”  Boromir whispered bringing his lips close to Aragorn’s 
ear.  The ranger moaned helplessly and Boromir felt his muscles tighten in preparation 
for action.

“Boromir?”  Aragorn asked again sitting up astride the warrior’s legs then caressing his 
beloved’s long thighs as he moved off to kneel at his side.  Watching Boromir carefully 
the ranger began moving the man’s legs apart.  Despite the desperation of his craving, 
however, the warrior was not entirely certain he preferred to be folded up and taken like a 
woman.  He did want to see Aragorn’s face the moment he took full possession of him 
but at the same time he needed his king to plough deep, deep within him.  He wanted to 
be able to push back against him and show him how much he wanted all of him.

“I’d rather be on my knees.”  Boromir answered, sitting up slowly and wrapping his arms 
around Aragorn.  All Aragorn could manage in response was a soft sighing sound as he 
returned Boromir’s embrace, kissing him everywhere he could reach.  After a moment 
more the warrior began leaning forward until his weight was evenly distributed on his 
knees and elbows.  Boromir did not break eye contact with the ranger as he settled 
himself on all fours, stretching a little so his backside lifted into the air.

Boromir’s intent gaze had caused a thin sheen of sweat to break out across Aragorn’s 
brow even as his mouth went suddenly very dry.  He had to touch him, had to touch the 
exquisite beauty before him.  Everywhere Aragorn lay his hands Boromir pressed up into 
the caress until Aragorn had worked his way behind the warrior.  Carefully, Aragorn 
rested both palms against Boromir’s taut buttocks.  He could still feel the extra heat and 
see the faint pink that the belt had left earlier.  Leaning forward the ranger ran his tongue 
along one of the fading marks, soothing the injured flesh.  Boromir made a low keening 
noise as the soft wet tongue laved along his tender rump.

Squeezing gently Aragorn pulled the warrior’s cheek apart.  He blew a gentle puff of air 
in between them and felt Boromir’s muscles tighten beneath his hands.  The ranger’s 
lower lip caught between his teeth and he forced his attention from the sight before him, 
quickly searching for wherever it was Boromir had dropped his pack.  He remembered, as 
he collected the warrior’s belongings, seeing a jar of oil the blond man almost certainly 
used to keep his sword in good order.  Finally spotting what he wanted several yards 
away the ranger made a quick grab for it.  It was only a few seconds that he needed to 
take his hands from Boromir’s smooth rear but Aragorn resented those wasted moments.

Aragorn fumbled through the contents of the pack with one hand and stroked the inside 
of the warrior’s thigh with the other.  Boromir twisted his neck to watch the ranger’s 
frenetic activity from over his shoulder.  He was swaying a little with urgency,  If 
Aragorn didn’t find what he was looking for soon Boromir was ready to make due with 
spit and whatever could be collected from his weeping shaft.  Just before the warrior 
could announce this decision Aragorn let out a little shout of victory and produced the 
small jar.  With indecorous speed, the ranger had thrown the pack aside and removed the 
jar’s stopper.  Thrusting his fingers into the oily substance Aragorn was finally able to 
return his full attention to the man before him.

The next sensation Boromir registered was the pressure of Aragorn’s oil slick finger 
pressing at the sensitive flesh just behind his balls then tracing a path up to his puckered 
hole.  “Aragorn!”  The blond man nearly sobbed, needing to have some part of his 
beloved within him immediately- even if only his finger.

“Good, love?”  Aragorn asked in a low murmur.  “I want to make you feel so good, my 
Boromir.  Will you let me?  I promise I’m going to give you such pleasure.”  He 
continued in desperate honesty as he let his finger outline the tight ring of muscles 
guarding the entrance to the warrior’s body.

“Yes. . . now.”  Came the anguished reply.  “Show me that I belong to you.  I- I love 
you.”  Boromir finished brokenly.  His voice was muffled for he had dropped his 
forehead to the ground and surrounded his head with his arms.

At Boromir’s words Aragorn let his finger dip into the Warrior a little way still moving it 
around and around encouraging the muscles to relax.  To distract his beloved from the 
woefully insufficient contact the ranger leaned over the blond man and kissed him.  Then 
lay his bearded cheek against his back in a gesture meant to comfort as well as excite.  By 
the quivering in his body, however, Aragorn realized that more was needed.  Without 
halting the gentle motion of his finger Aragorn took Boromir’s rigid shaft in his other 
hand running his thumb over the slit and whispering:  “You’re mine, Boromir.  I love you 
and you belong to me.”

Boromir’s head jerked up as his body contorted in a paroxysm of need.  He pushed his 
hips back trying to force Aragorn’s finger deeper within him while at the same time he 
tried to thrust down into Aragorn’s hand.  The ranger felt the twitching of the warrior’s 
shaft as he held it firmly in his fist.  

“Now, Aragorn.  I’m ready.”  Boromir finally managed to say as the motion of his body 
under Aragorn’s attention smoothed out and he was no longer jerking abruptly but rolling 
back onto Aragorn’s finger in a careful rhythm.

For a moment the ranger considered disregarding Boromir’s statement.  It seemed better 
to the always cautious man to wait until his warrior could easily take three of his fingers 
before attempting to fully penetrate him but surely Boromir knew his own body better 
than Aragorn did.  More than that, Boromir was offering himself in a powerfully intimate 
way refusing to heed him now, when he was so vulnerable would be beyond callous.  
Thus, Aragorn pressed a few more kisses to the warrior’s back before straightening up 
and quickly spreading oil over his straining shaft.  Then Aragorn positioned himself 
carefully at the small entrance to Boromir’s body so the other man could just feel his 
presence.

“Now, my love?”  The ranger asked, stroking Boromir’s side as he held himself against 
Boromir with the other.

“Yes, do it.”  Boromir answered and his voice carried more strength than Aragorn had 
heard in the warrior for some time.  Feeling that he had made the right decision to 
respond to Boromir’s words Aragorn pushed slowly until he was just a little ways inside 
his warrior.

Both men were covered in sweat.  Aragorn struggled to hold himself still.  He wanted to 
thrust himself entirely into Boromir’s straining body but he knew the blond man was 
struggling.  Boromir’s teeth clenched down containing a grunt.  The stretching wasn’t 
exactly painful but it was so very intense.  Taking deep breaths and urging himself to 
relax around Aragorn’s impressive girth the warrior finally felt able to ask for more.  He 
was given another inch and found that it was bearable

“I want to take it all.  Give it to me, my beloved.  I want all of you.”  Boromir ground out, 
now eager to be completely filled.  Inch by inch Aragorn pushed into the man in front of 
him until he was completely buried.  The hair’s at the ranger’s groin tickled against 
Boromir’s buttocks and Aragorn let out a long blissful moan at the same time Boromir 
sighed feeling perfected.

For a while, they remained still- completely joined.  Then, Aragorn withdrew slightly 
only to push in again with gentle, shallow thrusts.  Boromir lifted his rump as high as he 
could eager for each new stroke, moaning in synchrony with Aragorn’s motion.  The 
ranger had clasped Boromir’s hips and was squeezing gently trying to lose himself in the 
sweet eager embrace of the warrior’s beautiful body.  After a few moments Aragorn 
began experimenting changing the angle and depths of his thrusts looking for the little 
spot within each man that would give such immediate and startling pleasure to his 
Boromir.  He found it quickly and the ranger moaned Boromir’s name in helpless joy 
when he felt the warrior shuddering with ecstasy.

“Aragorn, oh god, no more gentleness.  I want it hard, as hard as you can give it to me, 
my love.  I don’t want to know anything but you inside me.”  Boromir pleaded.  He had 
to feel Aragorn’s hard, aggressive, powerful strokes ruthlessly invading his body.  He 
needed his king to conquer him, to reclaim his birth-right.

Aragorn heard Boromir and he felt something within him catch fire.  The spark had 
always been there but at Boromir’s words the ranger knew that he wanted complete and 
utter possession of his warrior.  Increasing the speed and force of his thrusts Aragorn 
began driving into Boromir as though claiming the warrior was the key to everything 
Aragorn had ever wanted.

Boromir was pushing back into his lord’s sharp thrusts.  His elbows and knees skidded 
through the grass and the warrior’s hands clutched at the ground, his hair anything  he 
could grab and hold.  Aragorn’s fingers dug into his hips anchoring him.  When Boromir 
felt the little slap of Aragorn’s balls as they thudded against his buttocks he pushed back 
harder.

Aragorn was close and with iron will he relaxed his talon-like grip on Boromir’s hip and 
moved it to stroke the warrior’s sex.  Almost at the first firm tug Boromir shouted 
Aragorn’s name and began spilling himself across the ranger’s hand and into the grass.  
The convulsion of the warrior’s muscles pushed Aragorn into an even greater frenzy.  
Somehow remembering to support his Boromir’s weight Aragorn began thrusting 
erratically, all control gone as the warrior’s tight body squeezed him.  Not long after 
Boromir Aragorn was crying out his own release.  With shaking arms Aragorn helped 
ease Boromir into the grass on his stomach before the ranger flopped down on his side 
beside him breathing heavily.

“I love you.”  Aragorn finally managed to murmur still recovering himself.  Boromir 
smiled and turned onto his side so his back was against the ranger’s front.  The warrior 
had never felt so blissfully content, so thoroughly happy as he did at this moment,

“Love you, too.”  Came the quiet reply and Aragorn circled his arms around the blond 
man and buried his face in his hair.

Aragorn had begun to doze a little while Boromir, completely relaxed, let his mind 
wander.  After a little time though the warrior disengaged one of Aragorn’s hands from 
about his middle and bringing it to his lips kissed it gently.  Boromir, then, extricated 
himself from the ranger and stood up.

At his beloved’s movement Aragorn came instantly awake but he made no move to 
restrain Boromir as the other man rose.  The ranger watched with indulgent curiosity as 
Boromir stretched and sighed, then moved over to the abandoned jumble of blankets and 
cloaks.  Selecting first Aragorn’s then his own cloak the blond man returned to cover his 
still recumbent lover.  The ranger smiled his gratitude for it really was a bit too chilly to 
be going about naked.  Having taken care of his lord Boromir put his own cloak over his 
shoulders.  Aragorn liked the way his warrior looked- naked except for the voluminous 
cloak sweeping down his body.  The picture would be even more enticing if Boromir 
would put on his sword-belt Aragorn thought smiling lazily.

Going over to his pack where half of his belongings lay in a jumble because of Aragorn’s 
earlier hasty search Boromir gathered up what food there was before returning to sit by 
Aragorn’s side.  “When do you suppose we will have to return to the fellowship?”  
Boromir asked around a mouthful of bread.  Though the warrior struggled to sound 
casual it did not escape Aragorn’s notice that the other man did not meet his eyes.

“I asked Gandalf to wait until tomorrow’s dawn.”  Aragorn answered raising himself on 
his elbow and helping himself to a little of the food.  It was early evening and the ranger 
anticipated having the entire night to be alone with his warrior.  Boromir nodded in 
response still staring out into the distance.

“You are reluctant to return?”  Aragorn questioned softly, putting a reassuring hand on 
the warrior’s thigh.

“I’d much rather stay here with you.”  Boromir answered trying to smile.  Aragorn kissed 
the man’s knee and patted his thigh but he continued to look up at the man as though he 
expected him to say more.  He was not disappointed.

“And in truth I do not relish bowing my head beneath the anger and disappointment of 
the others.”  Boromir finally continued.  Sitting up Aragorn maneuvered the other man 
around until Boromir was leaning against him with the ranger’s arms wrapped about him.  
The warrior sighed.  He liked this new position for it allowed him to take warmth and 
comfort from the other man’s nearness without feeling he had to meet his gaze.  “I think I 
could endure it well enough if it wasn’t that I feel particularly that I have let the little 
ones down.  Poor Merry and Pippin looked up to me and look what I did.”

“I do not think the hobbits will judge you harshly, my love.”  Aragorn answered kissing 
the back of Boromir’s neck.  “I have been doing a great deal of thinking and it occurs to 
me that we are a fellowship and we succeed or fail as a group.  You did wrong to take the 
Ring but I did wrong to push you away until you felt you had no other option.”

“Aragorn, that is ridiculous.”  Boromir retorted trying to turn and face the ranger.  
Aragorn, though, held him fast.

“Let me finish.  If one of us were attacked by orcs along the roadway and the rest just 
stood and watched that would be unpardonable.  How is it different, then, when one of us 
is attacked by a greater if subtler enemy?  We left you to battle alone.  Having done so 
who may judge you harshly without judging himself still worse?”  Aragorn finished.

“This wasn’t your fault Aragorn nor anyone else in the fellowship’s.  I was the weak 
one.”  Boromir insisted.

“There is blame enough for all of us, my love.  But let us not think in terms of guilt.  This 
is an opportunity for all of us to be more honest and open with each other.  We have to 
learn from our mistakes and the first lesson must be that we are stronger together.  I’m 
going to see that we all take better care of each other from now on.”  Aragorn resolved 
firmly.

Boromir could not help but chuckle at Aragorn’s idealism.  He could do it to, the warrior 
had no doubt.  They would all be talking about their feeling and crying on each other’s 
shoulders before a week was up.  And it was all probably for the best, Boromir conceded  
Though the fellowship worked well together, they were not quite the band of brothers 
they would need to become if they were going to accomplish their quest.  Even so, 
Boromir wished he could have served some grander more heroic purpose than the punch-
line in a morality play.

“What is it, love?”  Aragorn question feeling the dejected slump of Boromir’s shoulders.

“Nothing, lord.  If it is my lot to be an object lesson to the fellowship then I suppose I 
must be content.”  Boromir answered trying hard to be philosophical about it.

“Are you not content, then, to be the stalwart warrior whose deadly sword stands between 
the quest and the Enemy?  Are you not content to be the friend and comforter of two 
courageous but frightened and lonely hobbits far from their home?  Are you not content 
to be my joy and my hope?”  Aragorn demanded.

“I am happy and proud to be all these things.”  Boromir said a little taken aback by the 
authority in Aragorn’s tome.

“Then do not waste your thoughts elsewhere, my love.”  Aragorn responded.

The two sat together in silence for awhile watching the sun slowly descend to the 
horizon, savoring each moment, until Boromir began to wriggle a bit in the ranger’s 
arms.  “Aragorn, I am still hungry?”  The warrior complained continuing to wriggle.

“There is some bread left, I think.”  Aragorn answered as he found his breathing 
quickening with Boromir’s motion.

“Bread is not now to my taste.  I require something more substantial.”  The warrior 
replied as he finally maneuvered himself around between Aragorn’s thighs.

“Then you must look to see if there is anything else available that would suit you.”

Boromir licked his lips hungrily as he stared down at Aragorn’s penis which was 
hardening under his gaze.  Leaning down the blond man ran his tongue up and down the 
growing shaft.  “I think I have found what I want.”  Boromir murmured ducking his head 
for more.

“Me too.”  Aragorn replied a little breathlessly before abandoning words and thoughts to 
concentrate on the wonderful heat and pleasure of Boromir’s mouth.
*
All through the night the lovers kissed, fondled, made love, talked softly, drowsed then 
began the cycle again.  Yet when dawn was only a few hours off they rose reluctantly and 
gathered their belongings.  They spoke little as they made their way to the small pond 
where Boromir had overheard Aragorn and Legolas.  The men washed quickly before 
continuing on toward camp.

At some point Aragorn and Boromir had joined hands.  The warrior could not remember 
who initiated the gesture but as each step drew them nearer Boromir felt himself clinging 
ever more tightly to the ranger.  Despite Aragorn’s reassurances Boromir still felt 
reluctant.  It was far easier to summon one’s courage and determination to face battle 
than it was to prepare to be humble and accept the disapprobation of others with good 
grace.

Suddenly, Boromir was brought out of his thoughts by a cry of joy and welcome.  For a 
moment the warrior was back in his terrible dream right before Aragorn abandoned him 
for Faramir.  Fear seized his heart and he crushed Aragorn’s hand desperately.  Though 
Aragorn did not completely understand Boromir’s abrupt agitation he sensed his fear and 
moved closer to the warrior, returning his grip and stroking his arm.  Still in the midst of 
panic Boromir saw a moving blur near the ground then felt himself grabbed firmly 
around the knees.

“You’re back.  I knew you would be but we were still worried.”  Came the exultant cry of 
Pippin as he continued to hug Boromir tightly.  Then Merry was there too, also 
embracing him about his thighs and chuckling happily to himself.  Even through their 
obvious delight both hobbits were crying as they clung to Boromir.

Startled, Boromir looked down at the two small creatures before him.  Feeling confused 
he looked to Aragorn as though for an explanation but the ranger was only smiling and 
shaking his head in delighted wonder.  Still holding Aragorn’s hand in a white knuckled 
grip Boromir carefully lowered himself on one knee to see into the hobbits’ faces.

“What’s this now, Merry, Pip?  There is no need for tears.”  Boromir said still feeling a 
little confused as two pairs of little arms were flung about his neck.  “Don’t cry,  don’t 
cry.”

“We just missed you.”  Merry explained trying to pull himself together and turning a little 
to try and include Aragorn in the embrace.

“We were afraid you wouldn’t come back.”  Pippin said into Boromir’s shoulder still 
weeping unashamedly.  Boromir looked up helplessly into Aragorn’s face.  Tears were 
starting to prick at his own eyes.  He couldn’t believe this.  The ranger smiled trying to 
assure the other man of the reality of the situation before turning to face the rest of the 
fellowship who had followed Merry and Pippin and come to meet them.

Frodo did not approach Boromir but with Sam ever at his heels he went to stand at 
Aragorn’s side, resting his cheek against the man’s hip.  His gesture seeming to 
communicate without words that he was glad his protector had returned and that there 
was no objection from him concerning Boromir’s presence.  Aragorn quickly knelt to 
look Frodo over trying to assess everything about the little one’s mood and health with 
the intensity of his gaze.  Frodo, though, smiled weakly and murmured softly:  “I’m 
fine.”  Aragorn sensed that the little one did not want to be fussed over and so he rose 
letting the ringbearer relax against his side and observe the others in the comfortable 
safety of Aragorn’s shadow.

Legolas was next to approach and he offered Aragorn a quick embrace but as he retreated 
he laid a hand on Boromir’s shoulder.  This token action was more encouraging  to 
Aragorn than Merry and Pippin’s enthusiastic welcome and gave the ranger greater hope 
that the fellowship was indeed glad Boromir had returned.  Next Gimli came forward to 
grip both men by the arms.  The wizard had been watching all this from a few yards 
distance, his expression unreadable.  Aragorn expected that Gandalf would speak for the 
group and so he regarded his old friend patiently.  Boromir, who had recovered somewhat 
from the unexpected reception from the hobbit cousins, stood wiping his eyes once.  Still 
holding Aragorn’s hand he followed the ranger’s gaze to Gandalf.

“So you’re back, are you?”  The wizard inquired in his usual faintly tetchy manner.  
Swallowing an equally irritable reply Boromir lowered his head in a signal he meant to 
convey humility.

“I am back and despite what I have done I would rejoin the fellowship. . . if you are all 
willing to give me a second chance.”  Boromir answered meeting the wizard’s eye then 
looking at each member of the group in turn.  When he looked at Merry and Pippin they 
smiled back encouragingly and Aragorn squeezed his hand.

“We have had much to think about in your absence, Boromir, and it seems to us all that 
we are a better company with you than without you.  We would all like to begin afresh.”  
The wizard concluded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You all agree?”  Boromir asked, very surprised and truly humbled.

“Yes!”  Merry and Pippin squeaked together, nodding their heads vigorously to eliminate 
any possible misunderstanding.

“Aye, lad.  We’re all in this together.”  Gimli said, feeling a certain pride in this motley 
group well up within him.  Legolas nodded solemnly as did Frodo who still leaned 
against Aragorn.  All eyes then turned to Sam.  The final hobbit was studying his feet 
apparently deep in thought.

“I don’t like that you took the Ring and while Master Frodo was sleeping all peaceful, 
too.”  Sam finally burst out.  Everyone was staring at Sam and though the hobbit blushed 
at the scrutiny he gave no sign of backing down.  For the first time since returning to the 
others Boromir released Aragorn’s hand.  Moving away from the others he dropped to 
one knee so he could look the defiant Samwise in the eye.

“You’re right to be angry.  What I did was wrong.  I don’t know if there is anything I can 
do to make amends but I would very much like to try.”  Boromir said.

“Why did you do it, then?  You knew it was wrong.  Why did you do it?”  Sam demanded 
in frustration.  Boromir closed his eyes for a moment for he shared Sam’s anguish.

“I thought it would make Aragorn notice me.  I thought it could make him love me.”  
Boromir answered very quietly.  Sam’s eyes went very wide.  Somehow he had not 
expected the warrior to say that, not to him anyway.  He had expected some bluster about 
Gondor but as the blond man had spoken Strider had come up and put his hand on 
Boromir’s shoulder.  Looking up at the ranger Sam could see both love and pride in the 
man’s eyes and Sam relented.

“You mustn’t go interfering with Mr. Frodo again, Mr. Boromir not for nothing.”

“I know it, Sam.”  Boromir replied sincerely.

“All right, then.  Seeing as how everybody’s agreed, I won’t say I object.”  Sam 
announced turning from Boromir and making a big show of looking about him then going 
to collect his things for the day’s march.

“Well, come along then we’ve spent enough time dallying.”  Gandalf confirmed moving 
off to put his own things together.  Merry and Pippin seized Boromir by the hands and 
dragged him off so they could talk to him as they got ready.
*
Boromir spent that day in a warm haze of befuddlement.  Merry and Pippin danced 
around him all through the morning, clearly overjoyed to have him with them.  After a 
quick lunch, the warrior was approached by Gimli.  The dwarf seemed eager to talk about 
his home in the mountain and when Boromir still not altogether certain why everyone 
was being so kind to him offered a few comments about his City the dwarf positively 
beamed at him and slapped his back.  Even the elf took a turn at Boromir’s side, 
confiding more about himself in a few short hours than he had in the weeks since they 
had left Rivendell.  Boromir wanted to find this very suspicious but instead he found that 
he was profoundly moved and the others found they had a greater sense of group identity 
than ever before.

When it finally came time for the company to stop for the night Aragorn announced that 
two people rather than one would be on watch at a time.  He explained that this way each 
person could help keep his partner alert.  It would also keep a person from brooding by 
himself at night but Aragorn did not speak of this.  The new plan would ultimately mean 
everyone got less sleep but no one complained.  Leading by example Aragorn 
volunteered to share the first watch with Sam.

When guard duty had been surrendered to Merry and Gimli, Aragorn made his way over 
to Boromir where he had set up his bedroll.  As soon as he lay down Boromir reached out 
for him, pressing himself along the ranger’s side.  “Why are you still awake, love?”   
Aragorn asked trying to keep any sign of worry from his voice.  The ranger had his own 
set of significant talks that day and he had been delighted to hear that everyone was 
interested in making a concerted effort to bond as a group.  It would be a set-back if 
Boromir already found himself disquieted by the Ring’s influence.

“I was waiting for you.”  Boromir replied sleepily.  The warrior felt he needed Aragorn’s 
reassuring presence beside him to cement the good experience of that day.  The ranger 
seemed to understand this from Boromir’s few words and he wrapped his arms about the 
man, feeling a tension that he hadn’t even realized was in him fade away.

“I’m here now.”  Aragorn answered, kissing Boromir’s forehead.

“Good.”  Boromir said into Aragorn’s chest already falling into a deep and restful sleep.

Epilogue.

Boromir walked with his hood pulled up to conceal his face.  He had informed the 
chamberlain that he had messages from the king and the man began leading him right 
away to where Faramir still worked, though the hour had grown very late.  As he walked, 
Boromir studied the well-known rooms and corridors of his home appreciatively.  
Though he was in the very heart of his City, Boromir did not think of himself as truly 
home.  He wouldn’t be truly home until he rode through the gates beside Aragorn as they 
led the victorious army of men, but still it was nice to be surrounded by familiar things.

It had been a long path that had finally led Boromir to this time and this place.  He 
remembered the mind numbing grief that had closed about the heart of the fellowship 
when Gandalf had chosen to let himself fall into the pit rather than risk that his 
companions would try to rescue him.  He remembered the overwhelming guilt that had 
assailed them all when Frodo had taken leave of them in Lothlorien, claiming that he 
loved them all too much to watch the Ring torment them into irrevocable betrayal.  He 
remembered standing on the walls of Helm’s Deep looking out over a legion of monsters 
all screaming for the blood of men.  He had watched terrified as his beloved Pippin was 
menaced by the Palantyr then whisked away by Gandalf.  He had tried desperately to 
comfort Merry as Aragorn locked himself away to wrestle with the demons in the black 
stone.  He had walked the Paths of the Dead, sailed on the Black Ships and fought on the 
Pelennor Fields.  He had seen his beloved brother lying close to death under the Black 
Breath and he had stood before the Tower of the Teeth while the fate of Middle-Earth 
was decided miles away in the heart of Mount Doom.

Through all that grim struggle he had had Aragorn and the love of his people to sustain 
him and now his king was but a week away from his City and victory was assured.  With 
the promise of peace so near Boromir found himself overcome with the desire to see his 
brother.  He had missed Faramir terribly and he worried for the younger man.  They had 
both lost their father in a most terrible way and though this had saddened Boromir he 
knew it must have been worse for Faramir.  They had spoken a little after Aragorn 
brought Faramir from the land of shadows but Faramir had been too exhausted to do 
anything but hold his brother’s hand.  Boromir did not wish to leave Aragorn’s side but it 
was true that messages needed to be delivered and Boromir wanted to see for himself that 
everything in Minas Tirith was running smoothly.  So he had briefly taken leave of his 
king and come disguised to talk with Faramir.

While Boromir was lost in thought the page who the chamberlain had tasked with leading 
him through the palace stopped outside Faramir’s office door. The page knocked softly.  
Then, at a signal from within he opened the door and ushered Boromir inside before 
closing it behind him.  “What news from the king?”  Faramir asked rising from behind 
his desk to greet the newcomer.

“Victory in the east and the beginning of a new age of man.”  Boromir announced 
throwing his hood back.

“Boromir!”  The younger man exclaimed coming around his desk to embrace his brother.

“What’s wrong?”  Faramir asked after a moment withdrawing a little from Boromir as 
sudden worry struck him.  “Why are you back so soon?  Is the king well?”

“All is well.  I wanted to see you before all the confusion of the coronation and the 
official homecoming.  And I do have messages.”  Boromir answered, looking at his 
brother and noting that though he seemed much recovered from when he had last seen 
him he was still too thin and pale and worry marred his features.

“Of course, I should respond immediately.  I have been going over some of the planned 
celebrations but please look it over and make whatever changes you think best.”  Faramir 
said, trying to take Boromir’s satchel so he could get to work without delay.

“I’m sure you have done a far better job than I could and you needn’t be quite so 
diligent.”  Boromir told his brother refusing to surrender the rather weighty bag of reports 
and correspondence he carried.  “Trust me, there is nothing in here that cannot wait for 
two brothers who have seen little of each other for many months to talk a while.”  At 
these comments Faramir subsided and smiled at Boromir.

“I have missed you very much, my brother.  I cannot tell you with what joy and relief I 
woke in the House of Healing to see you standing beside our king.”  Faramir said looking 
upon his brother with the same mix of love and admiration he had bestowed upon him 
since they were children.

“I missed you, too.”  Boromir replied, overcome with gratitude that he had such a 
brother.  “I have said these dispatches can wait and they can but there is one thing here I 
need to talk to you about.”  Boromir said, hastily collecting himself as he rummaged for 
the scroll he wanted.  When he found it, he took it out but did not offer it to Faramir yet.

“The stewardship is yours if you want it, Faramir.  Here is Aragorn’s decree granting the 
position to you and your heirs.  I would like for you to take it.”

“What does this mean?  Boromir, you said nothing was wrong.  The king cannot do this 
to you.  The stewardship is your birth-right.”  Faramir exclaimed in alarm.

“I will be captain-general of the army which is all I want.  Military commander is about 
as far as my leadership abilities extend.  You are wise and patient.  You will make an able 
steward to our king.”  Boromir said trying to reassure his brother.  Faramir, however, still 
look profoundly agitated.  Boromir had discussed this with Aragorn at length and they 
had finally agreed the stewardship should go to Faramir.  Now he just had to convince 
Faramir of that.

“It’s not my place, Boromir.  I don’t deserve it.  Let me serve in some lesser capacity.”  
Faramir begged and Boromir felt his heart break as it always did when his brother refused 
to see his own great merit and potential.

“There is another reason besides your own great aptitude that I would see you as 
steward.”  Boromir began.  He wanted to be able to explain this to Faramir for he wanted 
his brother’s approval.  And. . . and, gods forgive him, Boromir still felt that a twinge of 
jealousy now and then.  When Faramir had opened his eyes and turned upon Aragorn a 
look of such pure devotion Boromir had felt fear claw at his throat even as he cursed 
himself bitterly for such a reaction.

“It is the steward’s duty to rule in the king’s absence and I will not be parted from 
Aragorn.”  Boromir stated.  Faramir, who was indeed as wise as his brother claimed, 
studied Boromir intently.

“Does the king return your love?”  He asked after a moment.

“Yes.”

“Then I will accept the stewardship and I wish you both joy.”  Faramir replied and it 
shamed Boromir to see his sincerity.

“I know it has been hard for you, Faramir.”  Boromir said taking hold of his brother’s 
shoulder and squeezing.  “Living with our father cannot have been easy and you always 
bore the worst of his temper.  Despite all difficulties, you were brave and without you I 
know our City could not have endured.”

“I almost gave up hope.”  Faramir spoke softly, his head bent.  “When father was so 
certain you were dead I almost gave up hope.  He said he saw you in the power of the 
Enemy, under the lash and then on your knees begging for mercy.”  Boromir could not 
help but shudder.  He did not know much about the working of a palantyr but he could 
not help but wonder what exactly Denethor saw when he looked into its black depths.

“The Enemy is treacherous and will lead us to believe what gives the least challenge to 
our prejudices.”  Boromir replied.  Faramir nodded, still without lifting his head.

“I didn’t truly believe it, though.  Perhaps it was arrogant but I felt that if you were to die 
that I would somehow know.  You mean so much to me Boromir.”  Faramir said finally 
looking up and Boromir saw tears shimmering in his eyes.  

“I love you, Faramir.”  Boromir said embracing the younger man tightly.  After a while 
Faramir looked up and smiled a little apologetically as he brushed the tears from his eyes.

“Boromir, will you tell me. . .  I mean what sort of man is our king?”  Faramir asked 
blushing rather deeply at his brother’s suddenly confused look.  “I mean I know he is 
very great for he is the king of men who has fought the dark lord to a victory.  And he is 
very kind for he came to me and saved me from a living death in the shadow land.  And 
he is very wise for he loves you but. . . well do you suppose he will be satisfied with me 
as his steward. . . I don’t want to. . .  disappoint him.”

‘Like he thinks he disappointed Denethor.’  Boromir thought sadly.  ‘He feels abandoned.  
Father is dead.  I love Aragorn and Aragorn must seem too high up and too far away for 
him to approach.’  Boromir was suddenly reminded of the little glimmer of insight he had 
so long ago when he realized that Aragorn’s feeling for Faramir would be essentially 
paternal.  In time Faramir would learn to his joy that Aragorn would be proud of him and 
love him even as Boromir did but for now Faramir was in the grip of a terrible fear and 
loneliness.

“Faramir, I would like to tell you a story.”  Boromir said an idea striking suddenly.  
Faramir looked confused but he allowed himself to be led to the cushioned sofa and he 
seated himself next to Boromir regarding his brother with great curiosity.

“It is not about elves nor is it a great myth or legend but a true story about our king and 
about you.  It has a happy ending and though you will find it amusing in parts it is not 
comical.”  Boromir started.  “In the time of our grandfather, Ecthelion II, there was a 
great captain of Gondor called Thorongil.  Now this captain was in truth Aragorn, son of 
Arathorn, heir of Isildur and our soon to be crowned king, but he did not reveal himself at 
that time for fear of drawing the concentrated wrath of Sauron against his people.  
Thorongil was in Dol Amroth around the time our mother. . .”  

Boromir told the whole story and he watched his brother’s eyes light as he spoke of 
Finduilas, for Faramir remembered even less of their mother than Boromir himself.  He 
saw Faramir smile affectionately at the mention of Brannan and Boromir promised 
himself he would take the next opportunity to visit his old nurse.  Boromir watched the 
wonder and disbelief flood over Faramir’s features when he was told how Aragorn held 
and comforted him as a baby and how that memory of fragile, beautiful humanity 
anchored him in his wanderings through Sauron’s kingdom.  Boromir finished the tale by 
telling his brother that in reward for their rescue Finduilas had promised Aragorn to love 
and cherish her son, and make him a credit to his City and how this had pleased Aragorn 
more than anything else could have done.

“Is that all true, Boromir?  I beg you not to tease me.”  Faramir finally whispered in a 
voice obviously on the edge of tears.

“It’s all true.  You know very well I don’t have the imagination to make something like 
that up.”  Boromir answered patting Faramir on the back.  “There was one more thing, 
though.”

“Yes?”  Faramir asked and Boromir could see that the story had already worked magic, 
softening the lines of worry around his brother’s eyes and diminishing that awful look of 
sadness in his face.

“We’re all going to live happily ever after.”  It took a moment but soon the chamber rang 
with the combined mirth of the steward of Gondor and the captain-general of the army of 
the west as the brothers laughed together in joy and hope.

-End