Title: Twenty Years Wiser
Author: Stewardess
Author's Email: bocagrande6@aol.com
Pairings: Aragorn/Faramir, Boromir/Faramir, Arwen/Eowyn
Rating: NC17
Summary: No heir has been born to the king and queen of Gondor; luckily 
there is a loyal steward close to hand. Alas, he'd rather be sleeping with 
the king.
Disclaimer: No injury to copyright is intended. This is fiction about fiction 
about fiction.
Warning: Incest, angst but no whining, mushy love talk, some het sex with 
a twist; you'll live through it. Don't worry about the plot -- it's NOT about 
pregnancy.
Author's Note:  Fourth Age. Story starts three years after Sauron is 
defeated. Used the "reality" of the film for the most part, but know the 
books too well not to screw that up occasionally.
Archive: Please ask.
Feedback: Yes
 
*"In his time the City was made more fair than it had ever been, even in 
the days of its first glory; and it was filled with trees and with fountains, 
and its gates were wrought of mithril and steel, and its streets were paved 
with white marble; and the Folk of the Mountain laboured in it, and the 
Folk of the Wood rejoiced to come there; and all was healed and made 
good, and the houses were filled with men and women and the laughter of 
children... "*
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return Of The King
 
Chapter One
The Blood of Numenor
 
Throughout the meal, Aragorn watched the secret grief beneath Arwen's 
composed expression. Separated from her by the long table, crowded with 
feasting dignitaries from Harandor, he watched his queen smile serenely 
on the guests. Only from her long silences could he sense her pain at his 
news earlier, that Faramir and Eowyn were expecting their second child. 
 
Three years had passed since his marriage to Arwen, and there had been 
no children. This was not remarkable in Elven families, where children 
were few and could be born centuries apart. In the families of Men, no 
children after three years of marriage was failure.
 
Aragorn did not think Arwen was sorrowful solely because of her failure 
to give him an heir, however; she simply wanted a child to love. When 
Faramir and Eowyn had visited with their firstborn, Morwen, they had had 
no chance to hold her their entire stay in Minas Tirith. Arwen had lavished 
affection and care on the child, insisting on feeding her, bathing her, 
dressing her, and watching over her while she slept. 
 
Now, after three years, Eowyn and Faramir would have two children, and 
Arwen and Aragorn would have none. To distract himself from her 
misery, Aragorn drank heavily during the meal. He usually took only one 
glass, as he despised the feeling of lassitude the following day if he drank 
more. This night, he downed three or four; he wasn't keeping track. 
 
After the meal, as he and Arwen headed to their chambers, Aragorn saw 
the messenger from North Ithilien return. He handed a letter to Arwen.
 
"My lady, I'm sorry. I overlooked this letter. This evening, when I put the 
new dispatches in, I found it in my bag." The man was overwrought by his 
mistake, so Aragorn patted him on the shoulder, assuring him no lasting 
harm was done. 
 
Back in their chambers in the King's House, Aragorn had an unsettling 
premonition. He watched Arwen closely as she opened the letter and read 
it. After she finished it, she stared, unseeing. 
 
"What is it?" he asked. 
 
Arwen smiled weakly. He saw unshed tears in her eyes. 
 
"Nothing, really. It's from Eowyn. She is going to Rohan before she is too 
big with child to make the journey. Morwen is already two years old and 
has never been to Edoras. Faramir will not accompany her, unfortunately. 
He is preoccupied with the restoration of Ithilien. Legolas has arrived with 
Elves from Mirkwood to begin the replanting... " Her voice trailed off. 
Aragorn held her in his arms as her sobs overtook her. He led her to the 
bed, pushed her down until she sat, and waited until her grief subsided. 
 
He stroked her face and hair. The contrast of her pale skin and dark hair 
had never looked more beautiful to him than at the moment. *I would do 
anything for her. Why can't I do this?*
 
"Perhaps we are trying at the wrong times," he began, but a ghost of a 
smile on her face stopped him. He blushed at his foolishness; the idea that 
the granddaughter of Galadriel would not know when she was fertile was 
ridiculous. 
 
"It's not that, Aragorn," she said softly. He still held her tightly, so she felt 
his body stiffen when she spoke again: "It's not me." 
 
He stood up and paced the room. Gondor without an heir to the throne. 
The tenuous stability he had built would fall apart, and all their struggles 
would be in vain. There were no other heirs, and Faramir's children, or 
grandchildren, would rule as stewards. 
 
He smiled bitterly. If Faramir had not been his loyal steward, he was the 
purest of the Numenorean bloodline, and could have claimed the throne 
himself. Aragorn imagined telling Faramir that he would step down from 
the throne, giving the crown to Faramir, so that Gondor and the 
surrounding free lands could enjoy peace and stability. If he could not 
have children, it must be done.
 
Arwen watched him pace. She followed the thoughts crossing his face, 
and saw when he seized on a solution. She had already come to her own 
conclusions: "Faramir."
 
Aragorn stopped pacing. It was not unusual for her to know his thoughts, 
but he could not see how she had done it this time. She said, "In him, the 
blood of Numenor runs almost true, as it did in his father." 
 
Aragorn returned to the bed, sat next to her, and took her hands.  He could 
see she was hesitating to say what came next. He had never seen her 
hesitate to speak to him before, so he braced himself for her words. 
 
"If Faramir..." she began, and halted. He squeezed her hands reassuringly. 
"If Faramir could be persuaded to give me a child..." she said, her words 
ending on a questioning note.
 
Aragorn did not release her hands. His face paled. His mind entertained a 
new scene: asking Faramir to lie with the queen. It was impossible. Better 
that... better that Gondor fall apart? Even if the people of Gondor could be 
persuaded to accept Faramir as king, strife would break out, and other 
claims to the throne made. Civil war would result. 
 
He looked at Arwen and saw her resolve. He knew that she had already 
considered every option, and had made her choice. While the idea shocked 
him, he knew she was right. She saw in his face his acceptance. 
 
"I can deny you nothing," he whispered. 
 
"We must act soon, while Eowyn is away in Rohan," she said, and leaned 
forward to kiss him.
 
"No," Aragorn said, sudden doubt filling him. "I cannot ask this of him. 
Nor of Eowyn. Already they feel beholden to me, that their lives are in my 
hands. They will not be able to refuse." 
 
Arwen stroked his face and smiled. "All the better reason to ask, my lord. 
They are deeply in your debt; would they not rejoice at a way to serve 
you?" 
 
Aragorn grunted at the truth in her words. "We must ask Eowyn as well," 
he said. 
 
Arwen said, "Yes, but not yet. There is a chance Faramir will refuse, or 
that he will fail to give me a child. If so, I would spare her the pain." 
 
***
 
Faramir woke up in his old rooms adjoining the King's House of Minas 
Tirith. Three weeks without Eowyn and Morwen had left him lonely and 
unsettled, so the invitation from the king and queen, written in the queen's 
own hand, had delighted him. It was Midsummer, and the city would be 
full of festivity and song.
 
His old quarters were not as he had left them, for which he was grateful. 
Beautiful hangings made by the queen and her ladies-in waiting covered 
the walls; a bird in a gilded cage sang at the rising of the sun. 
 
"Go back to sleep!" he called good-naturedly to the bird. It burst into even 
louder song. He laughed and got up. 
 
A party would be held that night, with lords and ladies from all over 
Gondor, including some of his mother's kin, whom he had not seen in 
years. He whistled at the bird as he washed and dressed. 
 
***
 
Aragorn and Arwen returned to their chambers prior to the dinner and 
celebration. They had spent the day with Faramir, showing him the 
changes in the city since the end of the war. Trees had been planted on 
each of the city's seven levels, stonework repaired, and the city's 
population had grown by more than a thousand. The gates were still in 
pieces; the dwarf Gimli's labors on the new gates of mithril and steel 
would take many years to finish, although he was aided by many of his 
own folk. 
 
Arwen looked at herself in the small mirror above the dressing table. 
Aragorn came up behind her and whispered, "You look beautiful." She 
smiled at him. "No man could resist you," he said, kissing the tip of her 
ear. 
 
"Remember our plan," she said. Abruptly, their plotting struck Aragorn as 
ridiculous. How absurd for a man to arrange the seduction of his own 
wife! He laughed softly, and Arwen laughed with him.
 
As she rose and gave him her hand, he felt a strange pride in her:  Faramir 
truly did not stand a chance. He took her arm, and they went together to 
Merethrond, the Great Hall of Feasts. All who saw them noted their 
smiles; it had been some time before the king and queen had looked so 
happy.
 
***
 
The meal was almost over. Faramir yawned. The last course of the meal 
was still to come, fruit and wine from the Southlands. Could he stay 
awake for it? Maybe not. He had arrived but the day before, after a tiring 
journey. He felt he could sleep for weeks. 
 
Suddenly, the king was at his side. "Faramir! I've been looking for you.  
Arwen and I are going to have the last course in our chambers. Please join 
us." 
 
Faramir smiled. "That sounds perfect. I've been struggling to keep my eyes 
open. I'd love to get away from all this noise." He waved a hand at the 
reveling guests. Aragorn took his arm, walking quickly, and Faramir had 
trouble keeping up with him. 
 
"Slow down, Strider!" he said, and Aragorn looked at him in surprise. 
Faramir had never called him by that nickname. "How much wine have 
you had?" he asked the steward. "Perhaps too much," Faramir admitted. 
 
When they arrived at the royal chambers, the queen was already there. She 
had removed her outer robe of embroidered cloth, and wore only the 
simple dress beneath. The thin, light blue cloth clung to her. Her hair fell 
like twilight over her shoulders. 
 
Faramir's mouth fell open at the sight. He had never seen Arwen in such a 
way, in such a setting. The moonlight streamed into the room, illuminating 
a small, round table by the windows. 
 
Aragorn steered him over to the table, which was set for three, bowls piled 
high with fruit. A bottle of wine stood open, and two more waited on a 
deep windowsill. 
 
"Sit down, my dear Faramir," Aragorn said. "Please share the last of the 
meal with us." 
 
Feeling clumsy, Faramir sat down and served them all fruit, while Aragorn 
poured out the wine. Arwen sat next to him at the round table; Aragorn 
took the seat opposite him. Facing the moonlight, Arwen looked even 
more beautiful. 
 
Faramir observed Aragorn and Arwen regarding him with amused smiles: 
he had paused, with his fork halfway to his mouth, mesmerized by 
Arwen's beauty. He put the fruit in his mouth and chewed furiously, 
looking down at his plate. 
 
Gradually, he relaxed as Arwen and Aragorn chatted comfortably of the 
guests at the party that evening. Many old friends had been present, and 
the enormous quantity of personal news divulged would be something to 
talk over for weeks. 
 
Faramir listened drowsily as Arwen informed them of her brothers' latest 
doings. He knew he should not have more wine, but Aragorn kept pressing 
it on him. He was too befuddled by Arwen, and the wine, to notice the 
king had drunk almost nothing.
 
His head drooped, and he sat up with a jerk. 
 
Aragorn laughed. "Our guest has tired of our company!"
 
"No!" Faramir said with feeling. "How could I tire of such company?" He 
looked at Arwen as he spoke,  and his chest tightened at her expression. 
She was holding his eyes, and he thought he saw invitation in her face. 
*I'm drunk, very drunk*, he thought. He swallowed and stood up. 
 
"Faramir, you are in no condition to walk about! Rest here for a moment." 
Aragorn led him to an alcove, draped with heavy curtains, furnished with a 
bed.
 
He sank on the bed and closed his eyes, murmuring his thanks as Aragorn 
pulled off his boots. 
 
***
 
He awoke unexpectedly. The moonlight was gone and the room was in 
darkness. He felt a soft touch on his face, and knew that a similar touch 
had awoken him moments before. 
 
"Eowyn?" he asked sleepily. He held out his arms and felt her enter his 
embrace. He buried his face in her hair. The hair smelled of flowers and 
something he couldn't name. It wasn't Eowyn. 
 
"Faramir," the woman said softly. He froze at Arwen's voice. Someone 
heavy sat on the bed. 
 
"Kiss her, Faramir," the unseen person said. Aragorn. Faramir lay still, 
hesitant. His eyes had adjusted to the dim light, and he could  see Arwen's 
face inches from his own. His hands touched the thin fabric of her dress. 
Her lips moved close. 
 
"What is happening?" he whispered, more to himself than to the king and 
queen. Aragorn lay next to him, pleasantly squashing Faramir between 
himself and the queen. 
 
"Faramir, I want you to make love to Arwen. Look at her," Aragorn said. 
His voice was quiet yet commanding. Faramir stared into the queen's eyes. 
Her arms were around him.  He realized with a start that all of his clothing 
had been removed. 
 
"Why?" Faramir managed to get out. He could not look away from Arwen. 
She reached up and gently stroked his face, then ran a hand down his neck, 
onto his chest. His breathing deepened while he struggled for control. 
 
How he wanted her -- he had always wanted her. Every man who saw her 
wanted her. He had never allowed the thought to linger in his mind, out of 
loyalty to Aragorn and to Eowyn.
 
"I cannot give Arwen a child," Aragorn whispered. "You can." 
 
In spite of his lust and lingering drunkenness, it took only moments for 
Faramir to understand the full meaning of Aragorn's words. This was no 
casual seduction; it was of great import to Gondor. But his mind was 
wiped clean when Arwen kissed him. He responded fully, rolling her over 
so that he was on top of her, grasping her waist, then sliding his hands 
upwards over her breasts. The thin fabric gave under his hands and he 
touched bare skin. 
 
The queen's dress rode up around her waist; she was naked underneath. He 
was already hard, and his erection brushed her stomach. He ended their 
kiss and trailed his mouth over her body. 
 
Dimly he was aware of Aragorn at his side, watching. It fled from his 
mind as he was completely caught up in Arwen's reaction to his touch: her 
gasps, her hands roaming over his body. When she wrapped her legs 
around him, he was lost.
 
***
 
The next morning, Faramir awoke to the bird's song again. "I have a 
horrible headache," he croaked at the bird. He rose from bed and took a 
long drink of water from the pitcher on his dressing table. He drank down 
more than a pint before he remembered the previous evening. Water 
flowed down his chin as he forgot to swallow. 
 
Quickly he washed up and dressed. He could not face Aragorn; he had to 
return to Ithilien immediately. He would leave as soon as his horse could 
be readied. 
 
At that moment, Aragorn entered the room.
 
Faramir slowly raised his eyes to Aragorn's face. It held nothing but a 
friendly expression. Faramir sighed with relief, and said, "I had strange 
dreams last night."
 
"That you ravished Arwen? That was not a dream." Aragorn sat down on a 
chair by the window.
 
 "I will leave immediately," Faramir mumbled. "You must hate the sight of 
me."
 
"If I hated the sight of you, why did I watch you make love to my wife 
three times?" Aragorn asked. Faramir looked at him in surprise; he did not 
recall Aragorn being there. Now it came back to him. Aragorn had been 
next to him, and at times... Faramir blushed.
 
"Ah, you remember," Aragorn said. His amusement was plain. Faramir 
recollected, vividly, Aragorn kissing Arwen,  while Faramir knelt between 
her legs, driving into her. His blush deepened: Aragorn had been naked. 
 
"Arwen wants you to stay a few more nights," Aragorn said. He got up, 
walked to Faramir, and put his hands on the man's shoulders. "She wants 
to be certain she conceives." Aragorn looked straight into his eyes, and 
Faramir forced himself to look back. "She wants you in her bed again 
tonight," Aragorn said in a low voice. 
 
 
***
 
Faramir moved restlessly about his bedroom in North Ithilien. Eowyn had 
sent word that she would be in Rohan for another month, perhaps longer, 
returning by October at the latest to avoid traveling in the winter weather.  
Faramir's heart sunk. It was not yet August, and he missed her and 
Morwen terribly. 
 
Disquieted, he recalled his time in Minas Tirith three weeks earlier. He 
badly wanted to tell Eowyn of it. Aragorn and Arwen had not asked him 
for silence, though both had implied it would be better not to tell Eowyn 
unless Arwen was with child. 
 
He made an effort to push thoughts of the king and queen out of his mind. 
He had stayed ten days, and every night, except the first, had been spent in 
their bed.  After the first few times, it seemed natural to spend his nights 
with the two of them. 
 
He paced about the room, then lay down on the bed, and closed his eyes. 
He could not keep the erotic images from his mind. He had seen Aragorn 
make love to his wife, while Arwen's hand stroked Faramir's erection until 
he came. Arwen putting her mouth over her husband's erection -- 
something Faramir had never seen a woman do with a man.
 
Then she had done it to him. Her wet mouth on him was one of the most 
incredible sensations he had ever felt. And was that when Aragorn had 
first kissed him? 
 
He rolled onto his side and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, as if that would 
keep out the memories. Aragorn had kissed him, more than once. And he 
had felt the king's hands on him while Faramir had made love to Arwen. 
Aragorn's hands stroking his back, his legs, his buttocks. 
 
While he had fully agreed with the royal couple that what they were doing 
was needed for the stability of the kingdom, it had been no excuse for his 
behavior, his depravity. He recalled Aragorn teaching him how to arouse 
Arwen, how to use his tongue between her legs to make her convulse. He 
had licked at her passionately while Aragorn had sucked on Arwen's 
nipples. He remembered the smile of triumph he shared with Aragorn after 
she cried out for what seemed to be an impossibly long time.  He could 
hardly wait until Eowyn returned so that he could show her... 
 
He got up from the bed.  His thoughts had caused him to harden. It was no 
use. He lay back down on the bed, pulled his breeches down, and grasped 
his erection, moving his hand swiftly. Images of the king and queen filled 
his mind: Arwen beneath him, biting his neck, hanging onto him tightly as 
he drove into her, the king caressing his back, his thighs. Ever since the 
Houses of Healing, where he had dreamt of Aragorn before awaking from 
the darkness, he had loved the king. He had buried that love well and 
deeply. Until last month.
 
At last, he let the forbidden image enter his mind: Aragorn's fingers 
trailing down between his buttocks, slick with sweat and Arwen's juices, 
pushing into him as Faramir drove into the queen, in rhythm with his 
thrusts. Faramir came explosively, then fell into an uneasy sleep.
 
***
 
A week later, Faramir re-read the royal dispatch nervously.  Aragorn 
would arrive the next day. 
 
He feared what his king would say to him; would Aragorn ask him to bed 
the queen again? Faramir struggled to understand his emotions. He 
admitted to himself that he wanted the king to demand his return.  
However, only a month had passed since he had last lain with the queen. 
She could not know so soon if she was, or was not, with child. 
 
Yet something else troubled his mind and disturbed his sleep. Aragorn 
would be staying for three or four days, as his guest. And he could not 
keep Aragorn's caressing hands out of his thoughts. 
 
Only twice had Faramir given in to his shameful desire for a man, and 
each time had brought guilt and sorrow. The first time had been twenty-
three years earlier. Aragorn's impending arrival brought it back, as if it had 
happened only yesterday.
 
***
 
Twenty-three years earlier, in Minas Tirith, Faramir had been left alone -- 
again. His sixteenth birthday had gone unremarked, as Boromir was far to 
the South, and could not return in time. Their father Denethor was busy 
with affairs of state and never saw Faramir, except to tell him how he was 
coming up short. 
 
Boromir was gone ten months, his longest absence yet, and Faramir was 
eager to show his brother how much he had changed. He had grown 
almost half a foot in height, and put on twenty pounds of muscle. His 
beard had sprouted. He was no longer a child; he was certain he had 
become a man. 
 
*In short, I was a young fool. Desperate for the attention of my elders, 
uncertain of my worth, treated with coldness by our father: what happened 
was no surprise to anyone but myself.*
 
Although Faramir had no love for battle, he dutifully practiced all of the 
soldiers' arts, and that year, with his new size and strength, he had even 
enjoyed it a little. It was satisfying to see his sword master since childhood 
grunt with the effort to keep up with him, and he had been elated when the 
sword master told him he would have a new sparring partner, one fit for 
such a promising pupil. 
 
When Mardil, his new sparring partner, arrived two days later, he clasped 
hands gravely with Faramir, a formal yet kind smile on his lips. Faramir 
felt an unexpected shyness when their hands touched. 
 
Mardil was perhaps thirty-five, and seemed more of a man than anyone 
Faramir had yet met (except for Boromir, he thought loyally). He was tall, 
two inches taller than Faramir who had reached six feet, and, although 
slender, he was well muscled. 
 
The sword master had the long, blond hair and bright blue eyes of the men 
of the North, his face sharply cut, proud, like Boromir.
 
Mardil pushed Faramir hard in his lessons, and Faramir strove to please 
him. Twice that first month, Mardil gave him words of praise. Faramir 
hungered for more. With Boromir gone, no one else spoke any word of 
praise to him -- no one as beautiful, or as admirable, as Mardil, anyway. 
The affectionate clucking of the housemaids did nothing to soothe his 
craving for attention.
 
***
 
From the first day, Faramir wondered why a man as skilled in arms as 
Mardil was given the light duty of training young men. He found out the 
reason abruptly. 
 
Cheered by news of Boromir's approach to Minas Tirith, Faramir did 
better than usual that day, keeping Mardil on the defensive, forcing the 
sword master into exacting footwork. Faramir had been wholly focused on 
disarming Mardil when his teacher fell. One moment Mardil had been 
standing; in the next, he toppled forward heavily, landing on Faramir and 
driving him into the ground. 
 
Faramir stood and offered to help Mardil up, but the sword master pulled 
away, stood with an effort, and walked silently back to the armoury. 
 
Faramir saw Mardil limp slightly, and followed him, uneasy. 
 
Mardil went directly to the small room where bandages and healing salves 
were kept for the soldiers, and sat down on the room's only furniture, a 
long and sturdy bench. As he stripped off his upper clothing, he spoke not 
a  word to Faramir. He did not tell Faramir to leave, however, so Faramir 
stayed.
 
When Mardil removed his left boot and unwrapped the bindings around 
the foot, Faramir stifled a gasp. A third of Mardil's left foot was missing; 
the three smaller toes were gone, and an angry purple scar covered the 
remaining skin. Mardil finally acknowledged his presence. 
 
"Mace," he said briefly. "Could have been worse. If it had taken my 
largest toe, I would have to walk with a stick. Makes me a bit unsteady on 
my feet at times." 
 
He motioned to Faramir. "Come, let's have a look at your back." 
 
Faramir obediently removed his clothing from the waist up and sat on the 
bench next to Mardil. Mardil turned him so he straddled the bench, his 
back to the sword master. 
 
Faramir grimaced when Mardil's fingers touched his back. Sharp stones 
had cut through his leather jerkin and the shirt beneath when he had fallen, 
and the wounds stung painfully as Mardil pulled out the embedded bits of 
stone and smeared salve on the cuts. Faramir did not make a sound, 
fearing that Mardil would find him childish. 
 
Once Mardil had finished, he stroked Faramir's back, rubbing a warming 
salve into his shoulders and arms. Faramir leaned back as his stiff muscles 
relaxed.
 
"You fought well today, Faramir," Mardil said. Faramir felt his face grow 
warm. "Perhaps you will need a new sparring partner soon." 
 
"No!" Faramir cried out, startling them both. He turned his head to look at 
Mardil. 
 
"We'll see what your brother says, when he returns," Mardil said. Faramir 
noticed an odd smile on the man's face, but thought nothing of it at the 
time; he was too distressed that Mardil might leave him. 
 
Mardil pushed him and he obediently faced away again. "You would miss 
me?" Mardil asked softly. 
 
"Yes, of course. You're the best instructor I've had, and... "
 
"And what?" Mardil said. His hands rested, unmoving, on Faramir's 
shoulders. He had moved to straddle the bench behind Faramir. Faramir 
could feel Mardil's chest hair tickle his back. He took a breath, savoring 
the sword master's scent.
 
He closed his eyes as Mardil's hands ruffled his hair. No one had touched 
him that tenderly for more than a year, when Boromir had nursed him 
through an illness. He kept his eyes closed as Mardil's lips brushed his 
neck, jumping when he felt Mardil's teeth nip his neck gently. 
 
He turned his head again to look at the sword master. Mardil took his face 
in both hands and looked at him with a solemn expression. 
 
"You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?" he said to Faramir. His 
voice was so gentle, Faramir stopped breathing. With his fingertips, 
Mardil lightly touched Faramir's red-gold hair, his full lips, and the golden 
fuzz on his chest. Then Mardil kissed him. 
 
Even now, twenty-three years later, the memory of that kiss inflamed him. 
He had swung his body around to face Mardil, both of them straddling the 
bench, and wrapped his arms tightly around the sword master's bare chest. 
 
Mardil's mouth pushed against his so hard he could scarcely breathe. 
Mardil's fingertips grazed his nipples. Faramir's mouth opened to draw 
breath, and Mardil took advantage of the open mouth, thrusting in his 
tongue. He kept his fingers on Faramir's nipples, pinching them. In 
seconds, Faramir was breathing raggedly. He held onto the man tightly, 
too shocked to move, even to stroke Mardil's skin. 
 
Mardil pulled him up onto his lap, Faramir's legs dangling off either side, 
so his mouth could take possession of Faramir's nipples. At last, Faramir 
broke out of his trance, running his hands through Mardil's long hair. His 
buttocks were resting on Mardil's groin; he could feel hardness pressing 
into him. 
 
So swiftly that Faramir cried out, Mardil pushed him off his lap and stood, 
unsteady without his boots.
 
Mardil rasped out, "Will you meet me? Tonight?" Faramir stood and 
nodded his head. He reached his arms out to Mardil, but the man pushed 
his hands away. 
 
"Don't touch me, or I'll take you right here on the ground."  Mardil licked 
his lips, then rubbed them with the back of his hand.  
 
Faramir listened in a daze as Mardil told him where he could be found that 
night, at an inn not far outside the city walls, a place soldiers routinely 
stayed. Then Mardil quickly dressed. Before he left, he pulled Faramir to 
him and gave him one brief, hard kiss. 
 
*What a young, innocent fool I was. The first person who treats me with 
kindness, and I think it's love. I think it's loyalty, devotion. Or maybe I 
didn't, and was simply desperate to sleep with the man.*
 
He arrived at the inn in a state of feverish excitement. Except for a few 
clumsy gropings with boys and girls of his own age, when he had been 
nine or ten, he had had no sexual contact with anyone, not even a kiss. He 
thought of Mardil's muscular tanned body, Mardil's arms around him, 
Mardil's lips on his. And that hardness pressing into him. 
 
The smoky smell of the inn hit Faramir's nostrils like a blow. Mardil was 
sitting, alone, at a table in a corner. When he saw Faramir enter, he made 
no sign to him, but rose and climbed a stairway to Faramir's left. Faramir 
waited a moment, then went up the staircase.
 
He found Mardil at the top of the stairway, and followed him into a room. 
Even now he could recall the room clearly. The large bed piled with 
blankets, the chest on the floor with Mardil's possessions, a single candle 
burning on the fireplace mantel. It was a warm night and there was no fire.
 
The door had scarcely shut before they were in each other's arms. They 
tore at each other's clothing and fell on the bed. He could not remember 
how they had undressed while kissing frantically. 
 
As he let it come back to him, however, he could remember everything 
else with terrible clarity. 
 
Mardil had maneuvered Faramir onto his right side, lying beside and 
behind him. His right hand caressed Faramir's buttocks as his left hand 
stroked Faramir's cock. There was a pause when Mardil's hands went 
missing, and then they were back, coated with oil. Fingers dipped down, 
pressing between the cleft of Faramir's buttocks, rubbing oil over his 
passage. Mardil's right hand, slippery with oil, slid over Faramir's cock. 
 
If Faramir hadn't released himself with his own hands in the armoury 
room after Mardil had left, he wouldn't have lasted a minute. As it was, he 
didn't think he could last more than a few. 
 
He gasped as an oiled finger slid into him. Faramir was ignorant of that 
pleasure except by rumor, and what the soldiers had spoken of so 
flippantly had done nothing to prepare him for the ecstasy. The angle of 
the finger changed, and he moaned at the sensation. If he could have seen 
Mardil's face at that moment, he would have been chilled by the man's 
smile; once Mardil had his measure, his finger pounded into Faramir. At 
the same time, Mardil increased the pace on his cock, and Faramir came 
hard, crying out. 
 
Before Faramir caught his breath, Mardil rolled him onto his stomach and 
entered him. Faramir was so aroused, and Mardil so lubricated with oil, 
that he felt little pain. 
 
With his orgasm still humming through him, the pleasure was unbearable, 
and he moaned, almost screamed, with each thrust. The sensation left him 
helpless. Mardil's hair swung over Faramir's back in time with his thrusts, 
and the delicate tickling made Faramir feel he would lose his mind if it 
ever stopped. Mardil's hands, strong sword master hands, gripped his hips. 
Faramir lifted his hips up so that Mardil could penetrate him deeper, 
faster. He had grown hard again. 
 
And that was when the horror started. The door had opened, and Boromir 
had walked into the room.
 
***
 
It had taken Faramir several moments to come out of his fog of lust, and 
by then Mardil and Boromir had already exchanged several angry words. 
 
"You!" Boromir had bellowed. At Mardil, not his brother. 
 
Mardil had pulled away from Faramir as soon as Boromir entered the 
room, making no move to cover his nakedness, merely wiping himself on 
Faramir's shirt, then sitting back on the bed. Faramir moved slowly to a 
sitting position, covering himself to the waist with a blanket. 
 
He stared at Mardil, whose cock was still hard, even as the man flung 
words back at Boromir:
 
"I'm sorry, but your brother couldn't keep his hands off of me."
 
"You bastard," Boromir said. His voice was quieter and Faramir tensed, 
knowing his brother was furious. He waited for the explosion, but it did 
not come. Boromir said to Faramir, "Come, get dressed." Faramir 
obediently dressed, oblivious of the stained shirt, and walked to the door. 
 
Boromir didn't look at his brother; he was still glaring at Mardil, who lay 
on the bed, naked. Still hard. Mardil said with a smirk, "I was wrong about 
you. Your brother was sweetly untried." Boromir slammed the door 
behind them. 
 
Only after they had reached Faramir's rooms did Boromir address him 
again. "Are you... all right? You are not hurt?"
 
"No. Not hurt," Faramir said. The strangeness of what had happened was 
sinking in. Boromir knew Mardil. Anyone could fathom that. Even a 
young, lustful fool.
 
Faramir dared a look at Boromir and was wracked with guilt at the look of 
concern in Boromir's face. There were new shadows under his brother's 
eyes.
 
"Get into bed," Boromir said. "You are sure you are not hurt?" 
 
Faramir shook his head, undressed quickly, feeling shy about his 
nakedness, and got under the blankets. Boromir sat on the bed next to him. 
"You know him." Faramir said. He could not keep the despair out of his 
voice. 
 
"Yes," Boromir said evenly. "He was my lover, once." Faramir closed his 
eyes to shut out the look on Boromir's face. So kind. Looking at the young 
fool, his brother. 
 
"He picked me to hurt you," Faramir said. Tears formed in his eyes, and 
he blinked to keep from weeping. 
 
"That does seem to be the case," Boromir said. He brushed Faramir's hair 
back with his hand. Faramir shuddered as he thought of Mardil caressing 
his hair. 
 
Boromir misunderstood, and asked yet again, "You are not hurt?" 
 
Faramir whispered, "No."
 
Boromir gave a small shrug. "Perhaps he didn't do it to hurt me. You are 
beautiful, you know." He smiled, a small sad smile, "You have changed in 
the last year." 
 
"Not as beautiful as you," Faramir said impulsively. He saw that Mardil 
looked much like his brother. The same proud nose, the same strong, yet 
sensual, lips. Boromir, twenty-one, had a vibrancy Mardil did not. 
 
Boromir smiled indulgently at his brother's flattery. He bent down to kiss 
Faramir's forehead, his blond hair falling on Faramir's face, but, as his lips 
neared, Faramir gripped his shirt and kissed his mouth instead. 
 
Boromir pulled back as if slapped. 
 
"It's my fault," Boromir whispered. "I talked of you, to him. He knew what 
you meant to me."
 
"Do you like men?" Faramir blurted. He knew the absurdity of the 
question even as he asked it, yet the events of the evening had 
overwhelmed him, and he was sorting through all he had learned. 
 
Boromir laughed. Weakly, but it was a laugh. "I guess I do. At first it was 
playing, wrestling bouts getting out of hand." He paused. "I met Mardil 
when I was your age," he said bitterly. "He was thirty, and I worshipped 
him. He was my first lover. When he was hurt, and could no longer fight, I 
loved him even more. I admired his bravery. He went on as if nothing had 
happened." 
 
"Why did it end?" Faramir asked. 
 
Boromir sighed, his face somber. "There are some people who cannot 
share love. They have so little of it in their hearts, they cannot conceive of 
loving more than one person. Mardil wanted all of my love. He was 
jealous, even of you." 
 
Faramir was stricken. *It was his fault.* He knew it. 
 
Boromir continued. "Only later did I question why a man of thirty would 
be interested in a boy of sixteen. I think he lost interest in me as I grew 
older." Boromir's face grew hard. "Now I'm certain of it." 
 
"How could he be jealous of me?" Faramir whispered. Boromir noticed his 
look of anguish, and took his brother by the shoulders. 
 
"Don't try to understand such a man. He was convinced that  I -- wanted 
you, in that way -- simply because I love you, talk of you all the time." 
 
Faramir thought of Mardil's words. *I was wrong about you.* He 
shuddered, remembering the hatred in the voice. 
 
Boromir shook him gently. "Please, do not let that man distress you. He 
was wicked, is wicked, I have no doubt of it now." 
 
Faramir barely listened as Boromir spoke in a soothing tone of the kind of 
man who favors young lovers, lovers he can dominate, lovers that do not 
threaten his fragile sense of superiority. 
 
Mardil's suspicions of Boromir swept Faramir's mind, and he looked back 
on every word, every gesture, every caress of his brother, in this new light. 
*It might be true.* 
 
Memories crowded into his mind: Boromir walking in on him when he 
was in a bath, washing his hair for him. Boromir lying atop him in the 
practice yard, easily keeping him under control as Faramir struggled 
against the hard body above him. *Wrestling bouts getting out of hand.* 
The illness he had had a year earlier, when Boromir's gentle hands had 
soothed muscles sore from fever. Faramir shivered, reliving the touch of 
those lingering hands. *It might be true.* 
 
Slowly, Faramir pushed the blanket off, so that he lay naked. Boromir 
took his hands off Faramir's shoulders, but made no other movement. 
Faramir watched Boromir's gaze flicker over his body.  He saw nothing in 
Boromir's expression save for anxiety that he might find an injury. 
 
"He didn't hurt me," Faramir whispered. Crushed by his guilt, he felt a 
desire to strike out, to wound. "I liked it." He saw the barb go home. 
Boromir flinched and turned his face away. 
 
"Boromir." Faramir made his voice insistent. "Look at me." Reluctantly, 
Boromir faced him, his eyes fixed on Faramir's face, not daring to look 
below. 
 
"I guess I like men, too," Faramir said softly. Faramir saw sweat bead up 
on his brother's brow. Boromir's hands jerked on the blanket. 
 
Faramir sat up and embraced his brother, who was stiff in his arms. He 
pressed his lips to Boromir's unyielding mouth. "Just kiss me good night. 
What's wrong with that?" Faramir whispered. 
 
Boromir's cheek moved against his own in an attempt to smile. "Nothing... 
" Boromir began. Faramir thrust his tongue into Boromir's opened mouth. 
 
For one blistering moment, he felt Boromir respond. Their tongues 
touched, and Boromir's tongue slid over his. Boromir's hands were on his 
back, crushing Faramir to his chest. Faramir's right hand, trapped between 
them, reached between his brother's legs, rubbing the hard bulge covered 
by cloth. Boromir moaned into Faramir's open mouth. His hands moved, 
set fire to Faramir's nipples with a soft caress.
 
Boromir pulled away, leaving Faramir grasping at air, and stood up, his 
face contorted with effort. "Don't touch me."  
 
It was a plea, not a demand. Faramir's mind filled in the unspoken part. 
*Or I'll take you right here.*
 
***
 
*Am I twenty years wiser, or twenty years more foolish?*
 
*I never spoke of Mardil to Boromir again, and I sought no more men. To 
think of lying with a man was to think of lying with Boromir. Mardil's 
resemblance to Boromir haunted me: Mardil may have used me, but I used 
him. I used him.*
 
***
 
Chapter Two
The King's Message
 
Aragorn looked at Faramir with concern. 
 
They were dining in Faramir's room. Aragorn had arrived late, four hours 
after sunset, and he had been famished. His hunger satisfied, he was struck 
by Faramir's careworn face. 
 
"I have news that I could not trust to a messenger," Aragorn said briskly. 
"Arwen is with child." 
 
Faramir was stunned. "She knows, so soon?" 
 
Aragorn nodded and smiled gently. "She is so happy."
 
Faramir stood and walked to a window. It was small, narrow, and let in 
little moonlight. This refuge in North Ithilien had been built as a fortress, a 
place of hiding, not a palace. Nevertheless, the room was large and 
comfortably furnished. 
 
"You will have this room," he said to Aragorn. He tried to match the king's 
brisk tone. "I'll stay below, with the guards. I'm afraid we do not have 
many rooms to suit."
 
Aragorn laughed. "That's ridiculous, my friend. This room is big enough 
for both of us. I'll take that couch. I'm not going to turn you out of your 
bed. You look as if you haven't been sleeping well."
 
Faramir smiled nervously. He needed Aragorn out of the room, now. He 
could feel Aragorn's presence, like the warmth of the sun, falling upon 
him. 
 
Aragorn stood and walked to him, standing close. "I hope that my news 
eases your mind," he said in a gentle voice. "Arwen and I are so grateful to 
you." 
 
"What if the child is not a boy?" Faramir said roughly. 
 
Was that what was bothering Faramir? "You know that doesn't matter, my 
dear steward. A queen can rule in Gondor. And her children after her. 
Especially now, in a time of peace." 
 
"I knew that," Faramir snapped. He moved away from Aragorn, to the 
other small window. 
 
Aragorn felt a pang in his chest, fearing that Faramir had turned cold 
towards him. He knew that guilt plagued Faramir, as it plagued him. He 
felt guilt whenever he thought of Eowyn; perhaps he could help there.
 
"Faramir, when Eowyn returns, have her come to Minas Tirith on the way 
home. I will tell her what happened." 
 
Faramir looked at Aragorn, then looked away quickly. The concern on the 
king's face made it too like Boromir's. Tenderness. Respect. He deserved 
none of it.
 
"I'd like that," the steward said gruffly. "I will have to be there, too." 
 
"Of course," Aragorn agreed eagerly, thinking that, at last, he was 
resolving the rift between them.
 
Aragorn moved to Faramir's side again, taking his hand. *Don't touch 
me.* Faramir left his hand limp, then realized Aragorn would be puzzled, 
and gripped back, returning strength for strength. 
 
"I must ask you something," Faramir said. His voice rasped. "My brother... 
liked men. Did he ever... did you... " He was unable to finish his thought. 
 
Aragorn put both hands on Faramir's shoulders and squeezed. "I knew that 
of Boromir. But he and I were on a rough and dangerous road, with no 
privacy or rest."
 
Faramir pondered the king's words. Was his answer evasive? "What of 
Lothlorien? Did you not rest there for nearly a month?" 
 
Aragorn's mouth tightened, but he did not take his hands away. "What 
happened between Boromir and I is none of your business." 
 
Faramir flushed angrily, his anger for himself. How could he hurt the king 
with his accusations? *I am trying to infuriate him, to drive him away.*  
"Please forgive me, you are right. It is none of my business. It's just, you, 
he would have been drawn to you, you are... " he stopped, humiliated by 
his nervous babble. 
 
"Faramir." Aragorn moved closer to him. Their bodies touched. "Please do 
not be troubled. I should not have been so harsh. I loved your brother, yet 
nothing happened between us. Only a kiss, only once, and yes, it was in 
the Golden Wood."
 
"Only a kiss," Faramir said thickly. The body brushing against him was 
warm and hard. He concentrated on controlling his breathing, the effort 
leaving him unnaturally still, his arms at his sides. 
 
"Only a kiss," Aragorn repeated, and kissed Faramir gently on the lips. He 
felt Faramir tremble. Desire flashed through Aragorn. *I don't even like 
men. Yet I seem to like this one. *
 
He had tried, in the last month, not to recall Faramir's naked body in his 
bed, grazing him, responding to his caresses. The first time he had kissed 
Faramir, Arwen had the younger man's cock in her mouth, and the steward 
was struggling for control. On impulse, Aragorn had put his lips to 
Faramir's, to breathe in and share his desire. 
 
The moment their lips touched, Faramir had latched onto him, locking his 
hands behind the king's neck, thrusting his tongue in the king's mouth. 
Aragorn had never been kissed so hard. It made his legs weak, and heat 
shot through him. He thrust his tongue against Faramir's, trying to 
overwhelm that forceful tongue.
 
After that, he had grown bolder in his caresses, especially when Faramir 
was making love to Arwen, and could do nothing to stop him.
 
"Do you want to know what kind of kiss?" Aragorn said softly. 
 
He felt Faramir tremble again; the steward's head moved in the smallest of 
nods. 
 
Aragorn closed his mouth on Faramir's and pushed his lips open with his 
tongue. Faramir did not move, though tremors ran through him. Aragorn 
grasped the sides of his face and kissed him hard, pushing his body against 
Faramir's. 
 
At last, Faramir's arms lifted and wrapped around him. His tongue probed 
Aragorn's mouth, and he pressed his body back. 
 
For more than a minute, they strained at each other, feeding on each 
other's mouths, then Faramir pulled away. "You kissed him like that?" he 
panted. 
 
Aragorn was expressionless, giving nothing away, but his lips were parted 
and his breath came quickly. 
 
Faramir felt his fear and guilt subside. Like a wave breaking over him, 
relief flooded his body and his mind.  Boromir was dead. Nothing he 
could do, now, could hurt his brother. 
 
He lifted his arms towards Aragorn and moaned when the man embraced 
him, hard. "I am so sorry. I want you," he mumbled into Aragorn's 
shoulder. He felt Aragorn shake and knew it was laughter. 
 
"Is *that* what has been troubling you?" Aragorn asked. He was grinning, 
and Faramir felt a smile touch his own face. 
 
"Yes, only that." 
 
He said no more as Aragorn pulled him to the bed. They stripped off their 
clothing, then lay down side by side. Faramir pulled a blanket over them 
both. He still felt shy about being seen naked, ever since the night Boromir 
had walked in on him. *I must get over it. * 
 
And none too soon, for Aragorn pulled the blanket away, and gazed at him 
longingly. "You are so beautiful," the king whispered. His gaze roved over 
the muscular body, the flat stomach with the swirl of red-gold hair that 
trailed down... 
 
Faramir gasped as Aragorn's lips touched his nipple. 
 
Aragorn smiled and sucked on the nipple. Arwen had told him that some 
men's nipples were as sensitive as a woman's. His own were not like that, 
although the feeling was pleasurable. As Faramir writhed beneath him, he 
felt elation build in him. He teased the other nipple with his fingers and 
was rewarded with a moan. "I think you like that," he whispered. 
 
Aragorn was filled with tenderness. He felt as tender towards the steward 
as he would towards a young maiden, her first time -- he pulled away as a 
thought struck him. 
 
"Have you ever been with a man?" he asked Faramir. "I mean, besides 
what little you and I have done." He felt his face grow warm. 
 
Faramir's face stiffened. "Just once." He flinched. "Twice." 
 
Aragorn heard the finality in his voice and did not probe further. *He'll tell 
me about it some day, but not now.* He went back to caressing Faramir's 
nipples, gripping Faramir's hips with one arm to keep the man from 
throwing him off, he writhed so violently. 
 
Aragorn trailed his mouth down to Faramir's cock, which had been poking 
him insistently in the chest as he stimulated the man's nipples. When he 
took it into his mouth, Faramir cried out. Slowly, Aragorn moved his 
mouth over Faramir's erection until his mouth could take all of it in. He 
moved his head up and down, holding on with his lips and tongue, leaving 
his hands free so he could play with Faramir's nipples. 
 
Faramir's back arched and his hips lifted, pressing himself into Aragorn's 
mouth. 
 
"Please," he moaned. "Please don't stop." 
 
Aragorn suppressed his smile so he could focus on the hard cock in his 
mouth. The last thing he had in mind was stopping!
 
His hands left Faramir's nipples and he placed them under Faramir's hips, 
lifting Faramir's body to his mouth. He wet one finger and ran it over 
Faramir's balls and below, until he felt the opening. His saliva and 
Faramir's sweat made the passage slick, and his finger slid in easily. 
 
Faramir stifled a cry. His hands grabbed frantically at Aragorn's hair. 
Aragorn slid in another finger and pushed in deeply. Faramir's restraint 
broke, and he came violently into the king's mouth, with several sharp 
jerks that threatened to throw Aragorn off the bed. 
 
Both men collapsed, breathing hard. Faramir felt the king's erection 
pushing into his hip. He looked into Aragorn's eyes searchingly. He rolled 
onto his stomach, and, before he completed the movement, Aragorn was 
on top of him, his cock pushing at Faramir's buttocks.  Faramir gave a 
small cry of pain. Aragorn immediately pulled away. 
 
"You will find some oil, there, just under the bed," Faramir pointed at the 
floor. He would have blushed about it an hour ago -- it was the oil he used 
when he released himself with his hands -- now he didn't care in the 
slightest.  
 
Aragorn applied the oil to himself, spilling it onto Faramir's body in his 
haste. When he lowered himself again, their slick bodies slid against each 
other, and then Aragorn was inside of him. 
 
Aragorn held still, breathing hard, feeling sweat run down his face. It 
might not have been Faramir's first time with a man, but it was his. 
Faramir grasped him so tightly he wasn't sure he could move. He pushed 
in slowly, pulled back slowly. Faramir cried out again, this time 
unmistakably in pleasure. 
 
Relieved, Aragorn moved faster. He felt Faramir push back against him 
and lust crashed over him. He growled Faramir's name without realizing it. 
 
"Faramir... I want you... so beautiful... I can't stop... " Faramir's excitement 
rose at Aragorn's frenzied words. Aragorn pulled Faramir's hips up so that 
he was on his hands and knees. Aragorn's thrusts went deeper and harder 
in this position, and Faramir moaned at each stroke as the pleasure shot 
through him. His upper body collapsed onto the bed, his face muffled in 
the pillows.
 
Aragorn reached under Faramir and felt for his cock. Faramir had grown 
hard again and stiffened completely when Aragorn enclosed him with his 
hand. 
 
Incomprehensible words came out of Aragorn's mouth. Pounding into 
Faramir filled his mind. Nothing existed except the body below him, the 
cock in his hand, the man wrapped so tightly around his erection, their oil-
slick bodies sliding against each other. Aragorn came out of his haze when 
he heard his name burst from Faramir's lips. 
 
"Aragorn," Faramir panted. It sounded like a plea, a question. Aragorn did 
not think it was possible, but he pushed even harder, even faster, into 
Faramir's body. 
 
It was the right response, for he heard Faramir moan his name again, then 
Faramir's cock pulsed in his hand. Faramir's lust filled voice calling his 
name pushed the king over the edge, and he came hard, pushing down so 
violently in his last thrust that Faramir's legs buckled. Aragorn felt 
stickiness all over his hand. 
 
Even after his orgasm, he was still hard, so he pulled out of Faramir's body 
carefully. It happened to him sometimes, a hardness that persisted. He 
grinned as Faramir turned and looked at his erection, puzzled. "Don't 
worry about me. Sometimes it takes me a while to relax."
 
"Do you need me to... " Faramir moved and would have taken Aragorn's 
cock in his mouth, but Aragorn pushed him back. 
 
Aragorn said, "I know it doesn't look like it, but I need to rest." 
 
Faramir smiled drowsily. "You are the king." His voice sounded smug. 
 
Aragorn laughed, mirth shaking his body. "What happened to the man 
who wouldn't embrace me an hour ago? I may have to accuse you of 
inconstancy." 
 
He waited for a reply, then realized Faramir was asleep! The king laughed, 
and pulled Faramir closer, so that the red-gold head was resting on his 
chest.  The sleeping Faramir stirred against him and mumbled something 
he could not understand. 
 
"By the way, I never kissed your brother," Aragorn said lazily. His eyes 
closed, and he passed into sweet, dreamless sleep. 
 
***
 
Two days later, Aragorn and Faramir rode alone to the slag mounds 
outside Mordor. 
 
Aragorn had not been there since the battle at the Black Gates. He looked 
sorrowfully at the desolation. But when he glanced at the man beside him, 
a smile came to his lips. In the last two days, a great burden had lifted 
from Faramir. 
 
He could see that Faramir's rising spirits were affected by the tortured 
earth. The steward's face looked full of care again. It reminded Aragorn of 
the question he had not yet asked, one he had put off for fear of breaking 
Faramir's happy mood.  With a slight movement, he signaled to Roheryn, 
and the horse pulled alongside Faramir's mount. 
 
"Faramir, I want to ask you about your first lover." 
 
Faramir looked at him in surprise, but, as always, his thoughts caught up 
quickly to the king's, and he let out a rueful laugh. "As good a time as any, 
isn't it? I couldn't feel much worse." 
 
"Please, do not feel compelled to tell me." Aragorn felt ashamed of 
mentioning it. Yet he also felt that Faramir needed to speak about it with 
someone. 
 
"It was twenty-three years ago." Faramir began. Keeping his voice light, 
he gave Aragorn the bare facts about Mardil.
 
 Aragorn questioned Boromir's suspiciously well-timed arrival, and 
Faramir explained that Mardil had planned every detail -- the fall during 
sword practice, the seduction -- and had sent Boromir an anonymous note 
warning of harm coming to his brother, Faramir, at the inn. 
 
"He even used your pity for his injury to ensnare you," Aragorn said 
angrily.
 
Faramir nodded. He did not tell Aragorn all that Mardil had said to 
Boromir at the inn, nor all of what had passed between the two brothers 
back in Faramir's room. 
 
When he mentioned Boromir's belief that it was his fault, for talking so 
much of Faramir to Mardil, Aragorn surprised him with a laugh.
 
"That is indeed the Boromir I knew. Once you were in his confidence, he 
would talk night and day about Minas Tirith, the greatest city in all of 
Middle-earth, and Faramir, greatest brother and Captain -- in that order, 
mind you -- in all of the same." 
 
Faramir reddened. "Please do not tease me." 
 
Aragorn reached a hand across the space that divided them and touched 
his shoulder. "I am not. Truly, Boromir talked much of you. And his 
opinion of you was indeed that high." *As is mine.* They fell into a 
comfortable silence as they rode south to the refuge in North Ithilien. 
 
Later that night, Aragorn held Faramir in his arms; their lovemaking was 
increasingly passionate, and Aragorn felt physical pain at their coming 
parting. Faramir's head rested on the king's chest, his eyes open, looking 
thoughtful. Aragorn bent down and kissed him lightly.
 
"Faramir, when you were telling me of Mardil, you didn't tell me all. It 
must be grievous, but please trust me: I will listen with an open heart. And 
if you cannot tell me, is there another to whom you might speak of it?"
 
Faramir let out a sound between a sigh and a snort. "There is no other, and 
you knew that before you spoke." Aragorn smiled and said nothing. "It 
concerns Boromir," Faramir said. Aragorn waited patiently. 
 
"Mardil accused him of... desiring me. He said things, unforgivable 
things."
 
"You do not have to repeat the words, if they pain you," Aragorn said 
quickly.
 
Faramir bit his lip. How could he describe what had happened without 
losing the trust, the friendship, of the man he lay next to? He closed his 
eyes and plunged on.
 
"That night, when Boromir and I spoke, I realized it was true. Boromir did 
desire me." He licked his lips.  "And I desired him." Faramir let out the 
breath he had not realized he was holding. "I did not act on it."
 
Not then, he added silently.
 
***
 
Did not act on it. Merely fantasized about it every night. Any casual touch 
had been an excuse to linger. When the brothers embraced after a long 
parting, they clung together too long. When Boromir gave him a brotherly 
kiss on the lips, more than once Faramir had parted his lips involuntarily 
and felt Boromir's breath in his mouth, felt Boromir shiver in his arms. 
 
*He's finally coming out with it*, the king thought. 
 
One night, two years after the misadventure with Mardil, Boromir had 
come to his room and kissed his brow gently, thinking Faramir was asleep. 
Faramir hadn't moved, had kept his breathing even, as Boromir had 
stroked his face and hair. He was not sure how he had successfully fought 
for control. He had grown stiff with desire, rolling onto his stomach to 
hide it, still feigning sleep.
 
For years, he wondered what would have happened if he had embraced 
Boromir that night. For fifteen years, to be exact. Until Boromir had left to 
find Imladris. 
 
When Boromir had persuaded Denethor that he, the older and hardier, 
should be the one to make the journey, Faramir felt a chill fall over him. 
There was something about the words, which had come to both brothers in 
a dream, which filled him with a nameless dread. *Then Isildur's bane 
shall waken.* He felt in his heart it was a prophecy of death.
 
He pled with Boromir that he, as the younger son, could be more easily 
spared to make the journey, taking with him picked men of the Guard for 
protection in the wild. Boromir had put him off gently, making light of 
Faramir's fears. Faramir did not speak of the dread that had fallen over 
him concerning Isildur's bane, holding on to a childish belief that the evil 
would not happen, if it they did not speak of it.
 
Nevertheless, as the day for Boromir's departure grew near, he felt a heavy 
weight on his heart. He hid it as he hid everything else. For, as the years 
passed, the brothers' skill in hiding their feelings grew. 
 
Almost, Faramir could convince himself that they were nothing more to 
each other than brothers tightly bound by the shared burden of an unloving 
father. Almost, but not quite. 
 
While Faramir took no lovers, for he could not do so without Boromir 
filling his mind, he knew his brother was not so restrained. And, indeed, it 
would have taken great strength of mind for Boromir to remain chaste, for 
men flocked to him. Within the companies he commanded, there were 
many young soldiers who looked upon him adoringly. Faramir envied 
them, that they could let their love show openly on their faces. 
 
Yet Boromir's young men did not torment Faramir -- he felt almost 
solicitous of them, as they shared a common bond -- until one night in 
Henneth Annun. Boromir had made a rare visit, due to his approaching 
departure. The brothers had little time to spend together; Boromir coming 
to Ithilien to discuss the garrison with Faramir was the only way they 
could contrive to spend time together. 
 
Not that they put it that way, even to each other. Boromir asked Faramir if 
he would like his opinion on the North Ithilien garrison, and Faramir had 
replied that he would be grateful for it. 
 
When Boromir had arrived in the company of four Ithilien Rangers, the 
evening had taken on the air of a celebration. Faramir's men looked upon 
Boromir with respect bordering on hero worship. 
 
One face held outright longing. The man was young, just twenty-five, and 
had served two years -- a short time for a North Ithilien posting, which 
went only to the most trusted men. Faramir sought to recall the man's 
name. Eldacar. 
 
The men that night crowded around Boromir so eagerly that the brothers 
agreed, wordlessly, to let all business wait. Among all those keen faces, 
Eldacar's face had shone the brightest in the firelight, as the men gathered 
around after the evening meal, to sip ale and listen to Boromir address 
them.
 
As Boromir spoke of battle, keeping his tone light, touching upon the 
absurdities, not the horrors, all had faced, Eldacar's face had burned with a 
longing almost unbearable for Faramir to see, it reminded him so urgently 
of his own suppressed desires.
 
The party had not broken up till midnight. Faramir went to his room, 
began to undress, then recalled he must have a word with Boromir of 
tomorrow's plans before turning into bed. 
 
The Rangers of North Ithilien slept together in the great cave of Henneth 
Annun, their bedding on the floor taken up each day to make way for the 
tables where they dined. Faramir, as captain, had a small room carved out 
of the earth, and he had turned another small room adjacent to it, which he 
used as a storeroom for his maps and books, into a temporary room for 
Boromir. The room was also used as a sickroom, and held one of the 
refuge's few permanent beds. 
 
He looked into the room and saw it was empty, and left to search the 
wayward passages of the refuge. Henneth Annun had been carved by the 
water that now flowed overhead, and thus the cave twisted and turned, 
with many hollows large enough to stand in. 
 
It was in one such hollow that he saw Eldacar, with a man. The man's 
hands were stroking Eldacar's back, raising the thin shirt so his hands 
could roam unimpeded. His hands slipped down to caress Eldacar's 
buttocks, pulling Eldacar close. Faramir could not tear his eyes away: 
Eldacar was a beautiful young man, and Faramir felt a momentary twinge 
of envy for the man who caressed him, though all he could see of him was 
his hands. 
 
How was he to get by them unnoticed? He could not reach the rest of the 
refuge without passing within arm's reach of the two. 
 
He retraced his steps thirty feet up the passageway, then trod noisily, 
letting his boots slap the stone, and called, "Eldacar? May I have a word 
with you?" 
 
He rounded the corner, keeping his face impassive, hoping the men would 
have time to straighten themselves. They did, barely. When he came face 
to face with them, Boromir and Eldacar were standing side by side, their 
clothing not noticeably disarranged. 
 
"Boromir!" Faramir said, shocked. His intention to question Eldacar about 
Boromir's whereabouts vanished. He forgot the young man was there. His 
sudden appearance had the same effect on Boromir; he stared at Faramir 
with wide eyes. Neither brother spoke, and the silence stretched on until 
Eldacar spoke out nervously. 
 
"Captain Faramir," he said. "Captain Boromir was... " his voice died when 
Faramir looked at him. To the young man, the powerful emotion on 
Faramir's face could be only disgust or rage. Eldacar feared that his 
captain had seen him clutching at Boromir, revealing him as a man with 
unnatural tastes. Not unknown among soldiers, but Captain Faramir had a 
reputation for being straitlaced in those matters. That his captain might 
overlook it, because his brother was involved, did not come to Eldacar's 
mind at that moment. 
 
"If I may be excused, my lord," he said tremulously. Faramir nodded, and 
the young man took off hurriedly down the passage. 
 
Faramir looked back at Boromir, who had control of himself once again. 
"I'm afraid you have ruined that lad's bit of fun," Boromir said as calmly 
as he could. He was astonished at the emotion in Faramir's face; never had 
he seen his brother so full of feeling. Except once. 
 
Boromir lowered his eyes and felt a wave of heat come over him, recalling 
to mind the night, so long ago, when he had come upon Faramir with 
Mardil. In a panic, he had opened the door at the inn, hearing what he 
thought were Faramir's cries of pain. Faramir's face had been transformed 
by passion, and Boromir had, for years, brought the memory to mind as he 
lay in his bed alone, stroking himself with his hands: Faramir on his knees, 
his upper body collapsed on the bed, pushing backwards with his hips to 
meet Mardil's thrusts. His lips curled in a grim smile; perhaps he had 
something to thank Mardil for, after all.
 
Faramir took several steps towards Boromir, then stopped. "I wished to 
speak to you tonight." Faramir's voice held a trace of apology. 
 
Boromir softened at the words. Faramir's gentleness was a secret source of 
pride to him. That such a kind, considerate man had grown up under 
Denethor's harsh influence was remarkable to Boromir; not once did he 
consider the role he had played in it. To Boromir, all was due to the innate 
goodness of his brother. 
 
"I'm sorry, brother, if I have hurt you." Boromir said softly. He closed the 
distance between them and put his hand on Faramir's upper arm. As 
always, his body betrayed him, and his hand clasped the hard muscle more 
than needed. Faramir smiled, but abandoned it when he felt his lips 
tremble. 
 
"Do not worry; I understand. Eldacar is a beautiful young man." Faramir 
tried to inject heartiness into his tone, with grotesque effect. Boromir 
winced. As if in apology, he slid his hand under Faramir's hair and lifted 
it, then let it fall back slowly, strand by strand, onto Faramir's neck. 
 
The simple gesture made Faramir break out in a sweat. For the first time, 
he perceived that Boromir was bootless, wearing only a thin shirt and 
leggings. He did not trust himself to speak, so he turned and walked 
quickly. Boromir followed. 
 
Faramir went into the map room and lit a lantern. Boromir came in and 
pulled the rough wooden door shut. "Do you still wish to speak to me this 
evening?" Boromir asked. He felt the restraint of decades crumbling. For 
years, he had watched Faramir grow more manly, more desirable, and he 
had never looked better to Boromir than at that moment, his face flushed 
with emotion, hair disheveled on his shoulders, thin shirt open nearly to 
his waist, faded leggings snug and well fitting with long use. 
 
Faramir shook his head. "No, perhaps not. It's very late and we're both 
tired." Boromir watched with sympathy as Faramir picked up a pile of 
papers, his hands trembling. 
 
"Faramir," he said. "I leave here tomorrow. I leave Minas Tirith in four 
days." Faramir kept his face averted, looking down at a shelf of books. 
"Faramir," Boromir said, almost roughly. "You and I might not meet 
again." 
 
He regretted the words instantly, for Faramir swayed where he stood, 
steadying himself with a hand on the wall. Boromir rushed to him and 
embraced him, supporting him. "How dare you ask me for forgiveness," 
Boromir breathed. "It is I that should ask you. For all these years, you 
have suffered because of me." 
 
Faramir wrapped his arms around Boromir's neck. The wave of dizziness 
had passed, but he still felt unsteady. The dread of Isildur's bane had come 
over him forcefully at Boromir's words. He was grateful Boromir stood so 
close, for the dread lessened upon his brother's touch. "I do not know what 
you mean," he said, confusion on his face. 
 
"Just now! You were sorry for interrupting me with Eldacar! As if it were 
not I who was doing something unforgivable!" 
 
"Boromir! I have not suffered for years on your account. That is absurd." 
 
Boromir slid his arms down, gripping Faramir's hips with his hands, 
pulling Faramir to him so that Faramir could feel him, hard through the 
cloth. "So I have suffered alone?" Boromir whispered. He removed his 
hands from Faramir's hips and once again lifted the hair, this time on 
either side of Faramir's face. It slid back into place, caressingly. 
 
They stared at each other, unmoving. Then Boromir leaned forward and 
touched his lips gently to Faramir's. It was a soft, chaste kiss, the same 
kiss the brothers had shared all these years, though it lingered a little 
longer. Boromir said hesitatingly, by way of explanation, "These past 
years, I have sought comfort with others such as Eldacar. Perhaps it has 
been too easy for me; they come to me, I never have to seek them out." 
 
"How many?" Faramir asked, surprising him 
 
"Truly, I do not know. A dozen?" 
 
"So many; did none of them then satisfy?" 
 
Boromir felt his breath quicken. "No, they did not."
 
Faramir regarded him gravely. "Perhaps you have been seeking comfort in 
the wrong place," Faramir said. His arms were still wrapped around 
Boromir's neck, dragging his head down. 
 
Boromir felt fire race through his veins. Faramir's mouth was so near he 
could reach out with his tongue and lick it.
 
"Not perhaps," Boromir whispered. He pressed hard onto Faramir's mouth 
with his own.  
 
Immediately, Faramir's body pushed into his, from lips to knees. They 
strove at each other as if they had only minutes to show their love, as if 
any hesitation would mean all was lost forever. 
 
They stumbled to the rough bed and fell upon it, kissing. Faramir opened 
his mouth so Boromir's tongue could roam it. He thought of that brief kiss 
years ago and was devastated to find that the passion then was nothing to 
what he felt now. Time had not lessened it but sharpened it. 
 
Boromir ripped Faramir's shirt open and his mouth greedily moved over 
Faramir's chest. He yanked Faramir's leggings down around his knees, 
then stood and removed his own clothing, destroying the fastenings. He 
fell back on Faramir. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once. 
 
"Don't stop this time," Faramir said. The desperation in his voice squeezed 
Boromir's heart. 
 
"I won't," Boromir said, kissing him hard. With his foot, he kicked 
Faramir's leggings the rest of the way down and off. Faramir moaned as 
their erections touched. Boromir's hand slid between his brother's legs and 
below, his fingers pressing;  he wet the fingers in his mouth and returned 
them, one finger stroking Faramir's opening. 
 
At the touch, Faramir lost control completely. "Do it now," he begged, 
lifting his hips up. "Don't stop." 
 
Boromir licked his hand and Faramir gasped as the large rough hand 
pushed between his suddenly slippery cheeks. Faramir wet his own hand 
and rubbed his saliva all over Boromir's cock, then leaned back and 
supported his upper body with his hands.  Boromir sat back on his 
haunches and grasped Faramir's waist, lifting him. Faramir marveled that 
Boromir could so easily move him; he had known Boromir's strength was 
great, but he was himself a man of strong build. 
 
No more preparation was made; Boromir pushed inside him, his hands 
grasping Faramir's hips. Faramir moaned and put his feet flat on the bed to 
lift his hips higher, and felt Boromir sink in deeper. 
 
Never had Boromir made love in such haste. His nerves were inflamed; he 
would perish if his passion was not slaked. Faramir's position, face up, 
supported on his hands and feet, made it easy for Boromir to move 
Faramir, using hands on hips, and he drew his brother to him as he thrust 
forward, his folded legs under Faramir, Faramir's buttocks directly above 
his crotch. With great urgency, he pulled Faramir to him, thrusting into 
him, until Faramir felt he was coming apart. The speed of the thrusts was 
so great his teeth clashed together, the back of his head hitting the wall 
behind. 
 
Boromir rose up on his knees and wrapped his arms around Faramir's hips, 
holding him as if in a sling; Faramir kept his hands on the bed to steady 
himself, his legs in the air. Weightless, all resistance to the thrusts gone, 
the thrusts came harder. Faster. Faramir's mind emptied, his head fell 
back, and he clenched his teeth to stifle his scream.  He came, his come 
splattering Boromir's chest and face. Boromir lost control at the sight of 
Faramir's head thrown back in passion; he made one last mighty drive, let 
out a strangled cry, and Faramir felt warmth fill him. 
 
Slowly, they toppled over on the narrow bed. They lay, entangled, 
unmoving, for nearly an hour. Then Boromir got up from the bed and 
gently washed Faramir with a dampened cloth, then washed himself. He 
filled a cup with water and drank it down, then filled it again for Faramir. 
They stretched out side by side, gazing into each other's eyes, their hands 
clasped between them. They did not speak, and Faramir felt tears build in 
his eyes, trickling into the bed. 
 
Boromir lifted a finger and traced a tear. "I swear to you that you will see 
me again, even if only for one last time," he said. Then, tenderly, slowly, 
they made love again.
 
One last time, Faramir thought. Alas, you were beyond my hearing then, if 
not beyond my sight. Lapped in water, with a radiance around you.
 
***
 
Faramir wept. Aragorn tightened his embrace.
 
"I did not act, but once. Before he left." Faramir's words mixed with his 
weeping.  "Why just once? I could have had him, all those years." The 
tears flowed more gently, and Aragorn brushed them away. 
 
The king was momentarily shocked; he assumed Faramir's secret grief 
hinged upon the shame of desiring Boromir, for he had discerned part of 
the truth from Faramir's words and actions over the years, even more from 
Boromir's. That Faramir's grief sprang from the suppression of his desire 
for Boromir, the king had not expected. 
 
But empathy came quickly. He had heard rumors of his foster brothers, 
Elladan and Elrohir, so such a bond was not unknown to him. And he, 
perhaps more than any other, could understand Faramir's pain, for Arwen 
had been separated from him by long decades. Would he have fathered 
children on Arwen if they had wed when first betrothed? He drove the 
tormenting thought out of his mind. 
 
Caressing Faramir, Aragorn said. "Boromir told me once you were the 
man he loved most. I did not know what he meant then, but... "
 
"You did not know what he meant? Why not? You and he were lovers." 
 
Aragorn cursed the swift mind of the steward. "Actually, we weren't," he 
mumbled. "We never even kissed." 
 
With tears still in his eyes, Faramir shook with laughter, and Aragorn 
joined him. 
 
Once again the steward's mood changed, and he spoke seriously. "I wish 
you had kissed him. He should have had more joy in his life." 
 
Aragorn shook his head. "He had plenty. He had you." 
 
"You know the worst of it now," Faramir said, "and yet, you do not pull 
away from me in disgust." Wonder was in his voice. 
 
Aragorn looked at him gravely. "I knew Denethor," was all that the king 
said.  
 
Faramir let his head fall once again on Aragorn's chest. He felt, more than 
heard, Aragorn's next words, rumbling from chest to ear. "There is no 
shame. You and Boromir survived because of your love for each other. 
There was no one else to love you."
 
Faramir closed his eyes. *There was no one else to love you.* Could 
Aragorn be saying that *now* there was someone else to love him? No, 
not possible. The king could not love him, not in that way. He was 
referring to Eowyn.  
 
But it was too late for reason. Faramir had fallen in love with the king, 
years before, in the Houses of Healing.
 
***
 
 
Chapter Three
The White Lady of Rohan
 
Faramir and Eowyn, with their two daughters Morwen and Theodwyn, 
arrived at Minas Tirith at sunset. It was Eowyn's first visit to the city since 
Morwen had been born, when they had made a brief visit with the new 
baby. 
 
A planned trip there on her way back from Edoras, eighteen months 
earlier, had not taken place, as a great storm had swept up from the sea. 
She and her party had turned from the longer road south, going directly to 
North Ithilien.
 
Now her youngest, Theodwyn, was a year old, and she was eager to see 
the city again. It was March, the time of the New Year.
 
Faramir had been oddly cast down when her journey to Minas Tirith had 
not taken place, but his spirits had quickly revived. Indeed, he had paid 
attention to her each night with such passion, she was at first 
overwhelmed. 
 
Due to her pregnancy, several months had passed with no relations 
between them.  Those days were well behind them, and she looked 
forward to the time in the city, where she would have plenty of leisure 
time to spend with her husband. 
 
Most of all, she was excited that her daughters would meet the king and 
queen's young daughter, Gilraen. She hoped the children would become 
fast friends. They were too young to do much more than roll on the grass 
together, yet the thought of even that filled her with contentment. 
 
She was not disappointed by their reception in Minas Tirith. The people of 
Gondor lined the streets to watch the steward and his wife enter the city. 
Morwen and Theodwyn squealed in excitement, and Faramir beamed 
broadly. 
 
"Hail the White Lady of Rohan! Hail, Prince of Ithilien! Steward of 
Gondor!" The people called out to them, throwing flowers. Her joy 
increased when she saw that Arwen and Aragorn had left the Citadel to 
meet them at the second city gate.  They rode up to the Citadel together.
 
By the time they had dined and settled into their rooms in a fine new 
building adjoining the King's House, she and Faramir were exhausted, and 
Morwen and Theodwyn were cranky. The family was asleep before the 
third hour after sunset had passed. 
 
Four days passed swiftly. On the fifth morning, Eowyn and Arwen sat in 
the garden alongside the King's House.
 
The high-pitched laughter of the children floated through the warm, early 
morning air. The children were indeed rolling about on the grass together. 
Theodwyn and Gilraen were still unable to walk more than a few steps, 
and falling on the soft grass made them shriek with delight. Morwen, three 
years of age, raced around them, throwing herself on the grass and 
giggling.
 
"Our daughters will grow up together, I trust," the queen said. 
 
Eowyn smiled back at her. "That is my dearest wish, my lady." 
 
Eowyn had felt no jealousy for the king's beautiful wife, although she had 
thought, for a time, that she was in love with Aragorn. Any lingering 
resentment she may have felt vanished at their first meeting, when she 
looked into the queen's eyes and saw there friendship and respect. That 
such a queen of Men and Elves looked upon her as an equal filled Eowyn 
with humility, and, eventually, with love. 
 
That evening, a gathering in honor of the New Year would be held in the 
Great Hall of Feasts, so the two women went arm in arm to Arwen's 
chambers to be dressed by the queen's ladies-in-waiting. Arwen insisted 
on arranging Eowyn's hair herself, and Eowyn tried not to laugh as she 
was fussed over. 
 
The queen had a newly made dress for Eowyn to wear, and would not take 
no for an answer. It was white, and had clear white gems on it that 
sparkled. Verily, Eowyn would be the White Lady of Rohan. For a 
moment, her eyes filled with tears at the queen's thoughtfulness. 
 
***
 
It was late, an hour before midnight, when Eowyn returned to her 
chambers. The children, after spending their first night with her, were in 
the royal nursery with Gilraen, so Eowyn made no attempt to be quiet as 
she looked for Faramir, whom she had not seen for close on an hour. 
 
She walked through the rooms quickly, seeing no sign of him. She went 
back to the sitting room, and gave a start. A man was resting on a couch. 
She smiled when she saw it was Aragorn. She looked happy and tired as 
she sat next to him.  
 
"I've lost Faramir," she said. "Perhaps you will help me find him?" She 
spoke lightly and was surprised to see no answering smile on Aragorn's 
face. 
 
"What is it?" she asked sharply. Becoming a mother had honed her already 
formidable protective instincts. 
 
"Faramir is with Arwen, in our chambers."
 
Eowyn relaxed. Aragorn cursed inwardly. Her trust of Arwen and Faramir 
meant the words had not served as a warning, as he had intended.  He 
would have to start all over again. 
 
"I must tell you something that will hurt you greatly. I must tell you that I 
am... I was unable to give Arwen a child. And I, we, asked Faramir to do 
so." He let the crushing words fall from his lips and steeled himself for her 
response. 
 
She looked at him steadily. With relief, he saw that Eowyn's self-control 
would keep her from breaking down in front of him. 
 
He could not bear to see her weep. He remembered her tears at 
Dunharrow, when he had ridden away to take the Paths of the Dead. Her 
tears then had wrenched at his heart, and he had wished, more than once, 
that he could have returned her love. 
 
He sat, silent, as she absorbed the news. "Gilraen," she finally said. "His 
daughter," Aragorn answered. She looked at him, and with shock he saw 
pity in her eyes. 
 
Again she was silent. He could see her work out the details in her mind. 
She had no need to ask when, for she knew when Gilraen was born. And 
she would not ask why Faramir had been chosen; she knew his lineage. 
Finally, as a daughter of kings, she knew why Aragorn had consented to 
such a desperate measure. 
 
Gently, she took Aragorn's hand. Tears welled in her eyes, but they were 
not tears of anger, or betrayal, or self-pity. 
 
"Faramir is with the queen?" she asked. Speechless for a moment, Aragorn 
nodded his head. She reached her other hand up and touched his cheek, as 
if to comfort him. He felt his face grow hot. He had more to tell her. 
 
"That is not all," he said. "Faramir was with us ten days." 
 
"With *us*?" Eowyn frowned. 
 
"With the queen and I. I was with them -- they were not alone. That is..." 
 
Eowyn rose and walked rapidly up and down the room. She turned to 
Aragorn and asked a question he was not expecting. "Is my husband your 
lover?"
 
He stood and walked to the other side of the room before facing her. 
"Yes," he said. "That is, we have made love," he added lamely. She took 
the news calmly, and he admired her discipline, but feared the toll it was 
taking on her. 
 
He sat again on the couch in hope that she would sit next to him. She did, 
but this time she did not take his hand. Her eyes looked into his 
searchingly. 
 
"You did not plan it," she said. 
 
It was not a question. "No," he said. "It happened." He returned her gaze 
and at last saw an emotion blaze in her face. Jealousy. She was jealous of 
*him*, not Arwen. 
 
Aragorn thought desperately. He had come prepared to defend the queen, 
to apologize for what Faramir had done. To reassure Eowyn that Faramir 
loved her more than anything. Except Gondor. He had prepared no 
defense for himself.
 
"You visited him in Ithilien, while I was in Rohan," she said. He wondered 
that such cool blue eyes could grow so hot. "Was that when it happened?" 
He nodded, fearing to speak. Her lips curled in a smile that was more like 
a snarl. "Why aren't you with them now?" she asked. "Have they grown 
tired of you?" 
 
"Please, Eowyn," he said softly. "I am sorry. If you wish, I will go to him 
and ask him to come to you at once." 
 
"That isn't necessary." She was cool again. Her hand took his chin and 
tilted his face up. She was studying him -- her rival. He saw something 
else in her face: Envy? 
 
"Tell me what you did to him." 
 
He moistened his lips. "I do not know what you mean, Eowyn." 
 
Emotion took control of her face again, and now he could see clearly the 
envy there, and, with it, a burning curiosity. 
 
"I asked you a plain question. Did you kiss him? *How* did you love 
him?" She grabbed Aragorn's hands to keep him facing her, so he could 
not evade her questions. 
 
"Please do not ask... " he began and stopped when her hands squeezed his 
painfully. Instead of refusal, he tried delay. "What do you know of men... 
"
 
"Men who lie with men? I know everything. I have lived all my life with 
soldiers."
 
"Very well," he said, and anger blazed in him. His guilt had forced his 
acquiescence to her probing, but her insistence that he reveal every detail 
was cruel. He had never thought her cruel. 
 
Her eyes bored into his unflinchingly. 
 
"When he was with Arwen and I, she was the center of our attention. Then 
I noticed, after the third or fourth night, that he would brush up against me 
accidentally, but it was no accident." He felt satisfaction as her chin 
trembled for a moment. 
 
"So I tried something: I kissed him, and he kissed me back. After that I 
touched him, stroked him while he made love to Arwen. I touched his 
buttocks. I pushed my fingers inside him." Aragorn drew closer to Eowyn 
as he spoke steadily, hurtfully. Her hands no longer gripped his and lay 
limply in his lap. "Do you want to hear more?"
 
"Yes," she whispered. Her eyes were burning. 
 
"Nothing more happened, then. When I went to Ithilien to tell Faramir that 
Arwen was pregnant, that's when it started." A touch of gloating had crept 
into his voice; he was not aware of it as anger still consumed him.
 
"Right away I knew something was awry, for Faramir was afraid to be 
near me. He could not look at me without blushing. He trembled when I 
was close." 
 
He paused for a moment. He was getting aroused, reliving his seduction of 
Faramir. He shifted on the couch to relieve the pressure of his growing 
erection and took Eowyn's cold hands in his own. "He wanted me so 
badly," he said in a low voice. "But he didn't know what to do. So he 
asked me if I had been Boromir's lover." 
 
For a moment, Eowyn looked surprised,  then controlled it quickly. 
 
Aragorn continued. "So I lied and told him I had kissed Boromir. I asked 
if he wanted me to show him how I had kissed his brother. Do you want to 
know how I kissed Faramir?"
 
Eowyn nodded faintly, exactly as Faramir had done. Aragorn smiled 
without humor and pressed his lips to Eowyn's mouth, hard, not the way 
he kissed a woman. She gasped, and he stood up, pulling her with him, so 
he could press his body against hers as he had pressed into Faramir. He 
kept his lips locked on hers, and felt her shudder when he pressed his 
erection into her hip. He pushed his tongue into her mouth. After a minute, 
he broke the kiss and tried to slow his breathing. 
 
"Do you want to know what I did to him next?" She did not speak, her 
face burning with envy and curiosity. 
 
"I took him to the bed," Aragorn said, and pulled her into the bedroom. He 
lifted her onto the bed. She felt slender but strong in his arms. He lay 
down beside her and removed his clothing. 
 
"I stripped him bare," he whispered, then undressed her. She did not move 
to help him, nor did she hinder it. Aragorn covered them with a blanket.
 
"Then I stroked his nipples. Do you know how sensitive his nipples are?" 
He brushed his fingertips across Eowyn's nipples, which instantly 
hardened. 
 
At that, Aragorn's anger faded. She was not being cruel. She was burning 
to know,  aroused by his seduction of Faramir. He saw for the first time 
that she was panting, and that sweat glistened on her skin. Yet he did not 
stop what he was doing. 
 
"Then I sucked on his nipples until he was wild with desire for me," he 
said harshly, and took her right nipple into his mouth. She moaned, the 
first sound she had made since he had kissed her. He twisted the other 
nipple with his fingers. She thrashed, but her smaller frame could not 
dislodge him. 
 
He stopped to whisper in her ear. "Then I took his cock into my mouth." 
He lowered himself and licked Eowyn's thighs. Her legs were tightly 
pressed together, so he pushed them open. He put his fingers on her 
nipples, squeezing them, and kissed her mound, sliding his tongue down 
through the golden hair until she cried out. He paused for a moment to say 
breathlessly, "I did not stop until he came in my mouth," then continued 
his assault.
 
He could feel Eowyn try to keep her hips still. She lost control and thrust 
upwards at his mouth.  Her fingertips brushed his shoulders, then her 
fingers dug in.
 
It reminded Aragorn of his next move: he pushed a finger into her 
womanly passage, added another finger, and thrust hard, licking at her 
unceasingly. The effect on Eowyn was quick; she cried out, shuddered 
against him, and went limp. 
 
He moved up so that his nose was touching hers. His erection prodded her 
thighs. "But that was not the end," Aragorn whispered. "Shall I tell you 
what happened next?"
 
Eowyn's self control broke, and she said impatiently, "Yes! Just tell me. I 
must know." 
 
Aragorn smiled, an alarming smile. "Will you surrender yourself, in 
return?" he asked. His lips were so close they tickled hers as he spoke. 
 
"I don't know... " Eowyn said. 
 
Aragorn pulled away from her,  and laughed at her cry of need. He lay on 
her again, pressing her into the bed, then grabbed her and roughly flipped 
her over onto her stomach. He pulled her hips up so that she was on her 
hands and knees, and then covered her body with his own so he could 
whisper in her ear. 
 
"If you want to know, you must surrender." He took his erection in his 
hand and rubbed the tip of it between her legs, trailing it over her opening, 
then moved it up over her clitoris, down, up, down... breathlessly he 
wondered if he should truly take her as he had taken Faramir, through her 
back passage. But his cock strove for the wetter, wider opening.
 
"Yes!"
 
"Yes, what?"
 
"Yes, I surrender." Eowyn's voice was unrecognizable. 
 
Before she had finished speaking, Aragorn pushed into her hard, trying to 
thrust into her as rapidly and deeply as he had thrust into Faramir. He had 
never made love to a woman this roughly, but Eowyn stayed steady 
beneath him, her body supporting some of his weight. 
 
Each time he entered her, she cried out, and, as he increased the speed of 
his thrusts, her cries became continuous. He reached under her, putting 
more of his weight on her as he balanced himself with only one hand, and 
rubbed his fingers over her clitoris. Her cries were higher in pitch, and he 
felt a tremor in her legs.
 
He lost all sense of himself. Everything was fading away. It was just her, 
her smell, her taste still in his mouth, her hot, soft flesh surrounding him, 
her wetness under the fingers of his left hand. 
 
He felt he could no longer speak, but he had made a bargain. "Faramir 
called my name," he gasped. "He wanted it harder, deeper." 
 
Her legs trembled violently; he picked up his pace until it seemed 
impossible that she would not fall prone below him. But she did not. At 
last his orgasm took him abruptly. A groan burst out of him as he heard 
her scream, "Aragorn!" 
 
Her legs collapsed. He rolled her onto her back and kissed her 
passionately. 
 
"My love," he said. He covered her face with kisses. "So strong. Like 
steel. Steelsheen. My love. Eowyn." She was undone by the endearments; 
tears started in her eyes. 
 
They pulled apart, exhausted, and lay side by side, holding hands, 
listening to their breathing slow. 
 
She propped herself up on one elbow and studied him. His eyes were 
closed and there was a faint smile on his lips. She felt warm and hazy, but 
she was not going to let his gloating go unpunished. 
 
"You told me more than you wished to, my king," she said. 
 
Aragorn opened his eyes and looked at her, bemused. "I told you 
everything," he said. "How could I have told you *more* than 
everything?" 
 
She laughed mockingly. "You didn't tell me that you had fallen in love 
with Faramir." 
 
He rolled on top of her and seized her wrists. "I didn't tell you that because 
it isn't true."
 
"I never thought to hear you lying to me, my king." 
 
He glared at her, and she laughed again, this time warmly. "You cannot 
hide it from me." She added teasingly, "My love."
 
His glare deepened. She tried to pull out from under him; his weight held 
her still. After a moment, his glare faded, and he rolled off her, away from 
her, onto his side. 
 
She moved close to him and held him. "Ah. It's that bad," she said. "You 
think of him constantly. The golden hair on his body. His lips, so soft in 
the midst of that rough beard. His face, which always looks so serious, so 
reserved, losing control, crying out your name... "
 
"Stop!" Aragorn shouted. 
 
He regained command of himself and said, in what he thought was a 
reasonable tone, "Let's clean ourselves up. I have to go back to Arwen, 
and I'll tell Faramir to come to you now." 
 
He stood and fetched water and soft cloths, and, silently, they put 
themselves to rights. Aragorn found his clothes and pulled them on. 
Eowyn dressed in clean nightclothes, put away her rumpled clothing, 
combed her hair, then lay back on the bed. 
 
When Aragorn was fully dressed, he sat on the bed and took her hand. She 
reached with her other hand and stroked his face. 
 
"I won't tell him if you don't want me to," she said. 
 
Aragorn pulled his hand away and smiled a little crookedly. 
 
"There is nothing to tell," he said, with more emphasis than was needed. 
 
"Of course," she said softly. He stood, bowed slightly, and left the room.
 
***
 
Aragorn walked swiftly to his bedchambers. Eowyn's teasing had left him 
unsettled. "It's *not* true," he said, aloud. His voice echoed  
unconvincingly in the stone-flagged hallway.
 
When he entered the bedroom, he saw Arwen in bed, deeply asleep. 
Faramir was visible outside a door that opened into the garden. Aragorn 
stepped out and inclined his head in greeting.
 
"Eowyn is well. She is waiting for you to come to bed." 
 
Faramir looked at him, his face a little weary. He was sitting at a table, 
outside to take advantage of the warm Spring weather. He sipped from a 
glass of wine. The ample remains of a meal covered the table. 
 
Aragorn's stomach let out a growl. He picked up a chicken leg and gnawed 
it. "Who brought the food?" Aragorn asked, imagining the talkative 
kitchen maids spying Faramir in Arwen's bedchambers at night.
 
"Do not worry; it was fetched by Arwen's lady-in-waiting, Dirhael," 
Faramir reassured him. Arwen's ladies-in-waiting were the widows of 
Rangers who had fallen in the War of the Ring, and were devoted to her -- 
and to him. Aragorn suspected they knew Gilraen's parentage.
 
"Something seems to have left you with quite an appetite," Faramir said. 
He poured Aragorn a glass of wine and offered it to him. Aragorn sat 
down, took it, sipped, and finished the chicken. 
 
"So you have told Eowyn everything?" Faramir asked.
 
"Everything," Aragorn replied, keeping his voice neutral. He took another 
sip of wine. "How is Arwen?" he asked, to change the subject.
 
"She is well. She -- she got hungry. She went to sleep half an hour ago." 
Faramir blushed. "And Eowyn?"
 
"I believe she is yet awake. She may be very hungry, too," Aragorn said, 
unthinkingly, relieved when Faramir laughed. 
 
"Then let us take this food to her," Faramir said. 
 
"You can take it, can't you? I have need of sleep." Aragorn finished his 
wine. Faramir watched Aragorn pick up a hunk of bread and butter it 
thickly. 
 
"Please, Aragorn," Faramir pressed.  He was not ready to face Eowyn, 
alone. "You can keep her company at the table. I have had my fill, and 
could only watch her eat." Reduced to a matter of simple courtesy, the 
suggestion could no longer be gainsaid, and Aragorn did not protest 
further. They gathered up the food and wine and left.
 
***
 
They found Eowyn in the sitting room, a robe over her nightclothes. Her 
eyes lit up at the food, and Faramir concentrated on feeding his starving 
wife and king, refilling their plates and cups until they were sated. 
 
He noted Aragorn drank far more wine than usual; as Faramir had done 
the same that night, he could not fault him. The steward felt only a little 
tipsy, his late meal slowing the effects of the wine. 
 
They stood, and Eowyn took both of them by the hand. 
 
"Now it's time for bed," she said, smiling. She tugged at their hands, 
pulling them towards the bedroom. Aragorn looked at Faramir with a 
pleading expression. 
 
"Ah, Eowyn, perhaps Aragorn needs to get back to his own bed. It must be 
four hours till sunrise."
 
"Aragorn, you need to get to bed?" Eowyn asked with an innocent 
expression. He nodded. 
 
"That's fine! I'll be able to talk things over with Faramir, tell him 
*everything* you told me." She squeezed Aragorn's hand meaningfully. 
 
Faramir was ahead of them, going through the bedroom door, so Aragorn 
turned to her and mouthed: *You wouldn't*. She mouthed back: *Yes I 
would*. Defeated, he followed her into the bedroom. 
 
"Faramir, Aragorn has changed his mind. He'll stay with us awhile." 
Eowyn smiled sweetly at them, and Aragorn fought an urge to shake her. 
 
Faramir looked at him uncertainly as Eowyn blew out all of the candles 
except for one flickering dimly on a dressing table. 
 
"Come, don't keep me waiting. Take off your clothes." Eowyn got into the 
bed and looked at them expectantly. 
 
He was going to kill her, Aragorn vowed, when he got the chance. 
 
He removed his clothes and got into the bed on Eowyn's right. Faramir 
undressed and got into the bed on her left. Aragorn and Faramir avoided 
each other's eyes and lay down, settling themselves for sleep. 
 
Eowyn sat up a little and said to them cheerfully, "Kiss." 
 
*Yes, he was going to kill her.* 
 
Faramir darted a look at Aragorn and saw resignation in the king's face. 
*What was going on?* The king must have revealed to Eowyn that the 
steward had been in the king's bed as much as the queen's: that much was 
plain. Nothing else was!
 
The king was already leaning to kiss him. Faramir moved into the kiss. 
 
As soon as their lips touched, Faramir forgot his discomfort. He had not 
kissed Aragorn since the king's visit to North Ithilien, eighteen months 
earlier. He took Aragorn's face in his hands and thrust his tongue into the 
open mouth. Eowyn sighed in his ear. They were kissing directly over her. 
 
She wriggled out from between them and knelt at the end of the bed.  *To 
get a better view*, Aragorn thought. 
 
While Aragorn kissed him back eagerly enough, Faramir felt hesitation in 
the man's touch. *Does he no longer enjoy this*, Faramir wondered. 
 
He slid his hands down to Aragorn's hips and pulled them against his. He 
gasped when their erections touched. *Part of him is still willing, at least. 
* 
 
Abruptly, Eowyn leaned over them, breathing heavily. "What have you 
two *not* yet done?" she asked. "Faramir? Have you taken Aragorn?" 
 
The men broke their kiss. *Of course*, Aragorn tried to get out, but 
Faramir beat him to it. 
 
"No, I haven't," Faramir said. He looked at Aragorn inquiringly. Aragorn 
scowled. 
 
Eowyn made  a sound almost like a squeal. "You should use lots of oil," 
she said eagerly to Faramir. "I think it will be his first time." 
 
"Eowyn, this would all be much easier if you would BE QUIET!" 
Aragorn's voice rose to a bellow. Eowyn surprised Faramir with instant 
complicity. She spoke not a word further, and moved off the bed, perching 
on an upholstered bench near the foot of it. 
 
Faramir turned again to Aragorn. "There is no need to accommodate her 
whims, my lord," he said, fighting a powerful urge to flip Aragorn over 
and ravish him.
 
Aragorn smiled. "I think *whim* is putting it mildly." 
 
Faramir kissed him gently; Aragorn felt the suppressed excitement in the 
other man. 
 
"We could try it, stop anytime if you want to," Faramir whispered. His 
eyes grew hot and his lips parted. The king had wilted completely at 
Eowyn's suggestion, but Faramir's erection was jabbing into his hip. 
Faramir's hands trailed over his buttocks. 
 
"All right, we'll try it," Aragorn said, because he wanted to see the elation 
in Faramir's face at his words, and he was not disappointed. 
 
Faramir seized him, kissed him passionately, then quickly moved his lips 
from Aragorn's mouth, showering kisses, licks, and gentle nips onto the 
king's neck and chest. In spite of his worry -- nay, his fear -- Aragorn 
responded to Faramir's passion. 
 
Soon Faramir was softly kissing and licking his hardening cock. Aragorn 
tried to breathe normally as Faramir lavished attention on him, gently 
stroking the shaft, cupping his balls, the steward's hot breath ruffling the 
soft hair on his stomach. He took Aragorn into his mouth and the king 
clutched the bedclothes, twisting the cloth in his hands. 
 
But Faramir did not apply the pressure Aragorn needed to climax. He 
swirled his tongue underneath Aragorn's now hard cock, licked the tip, 
caressed his balls. Aragorn lost his battle to breathe evenly. 
 
Aragorn looked down at the man's head between his thighs and grew even 
harder. The sight of those strong, masculine lips on him was too much for 
him, light contact or no. He took Faramir's hair in his hands, fighting the 
urge to pull the mouth closer. When he thought he could stand no more, 
Faramir wet a finger and rubbed it along the cleft of his buttocks, not 
pausing over the opening, not yet. 
 
Faramir removed his mouth for a moment and reached for the oil under 
the bed, poured it out into his hands, and rubbed his oiled fingers into 
Aragorn's cleft, this time letting one finger circle the opening. Slowly, he 
slid his fingers back and forth, each time spending more time just... there. 
Faramir slowly slid his finger in halfway, and at the same time sucked 
hard on Aragorn's erection. 
 
A low moan came out of the king. He had not expected something like 
this. The finger moving inside him made him feel vulnerable, helpless. He 
was paralyzed with the pleasure. The finger slid into him again, all the 
way in, and he moaned loudly. 
 
The sound made Faramir unbearably hard. He had heard the king in the 
throes of passion many times, yet never had a sound like this come from 
his lips. He withdrew his finger to apply more oil to his hands. A groan of 
disappointment came from Aragorn, but it turned into a squeak when 
Faramir pushed two fingers in slowly. 
 
Tentatively he pushed them all the way in, then out, in... .Aragorn took 
Faramir by surprise when he placed his feet flat on the bed, lifting his 
pelvis up, arching his back, only his feet and upper body resting on the 
bed. 
 
*He's just about ready*, Faramir thought, eyes fixed on the king's arching 
body. He decreased his suction on Aragorn's cock, for he was not going to 
let him come, not yet.  Sweat broke out on his face at the thought of giving 
Aragorn what he craved. He continued his slow stimulation of Aragorn's 
cock and back passage.  
 
A sobbing moan burst out of Aragorn, distracting him. "Faramir," the king 
groaned, "I can't take any more. Please. I can't." Faramir felt a pang of 
guilt at the king's plea. "Please, finish me. Faramir." 
 
"Soon, my... king." Faramir whispered. He caught himself before saying 
*my love*. The king desired him, yes, but he did not love him. Loved to 
take him perhaps, to kiss him -- another groan broke into his thoughts, and 
Faramir stopped his teasing. 
 
Faramir removed his fingers, moving up to cover Aragorn with his body, 
and was surprised again when Aragorn swung his legs over Faramir's 
shoulders, scooting his buttocks against Faramir's crotch. His knees rested 
on Faramir's shoulders, his calves on Faramir's back, ankles crossed. His 
legs pulled Faramir close.
 
Faramir struggled to grab the oil, coated himself, placed the tip of his cock 
right... there. 
 
Aragorn was moaning; Faramir could no longer hear it. There was a 
buzzing in his ears. He pushed the tip of his erection in, slowly, slowly, 
fighting the urge to ram himself in up to the hilt.  Aragorn had never taken 
him this way; the king had always taken him from the back. Seeing his 
lover face to face increased Faramir's arousal sharply. 
 
Faramir watched, fascinated, at the expression on Aragorn's face: his eyes 
were tightly shut, his mouth open, and he moaned with abandon. His legs 
urged Faramir to move faster. Faramir pulled out slowly, pushed in 
slowly. Aragorn's eyes opened and looked at Faramir with such lust, the 
steward almost came at that moment. 
 
Unconsciously, Faramir had increased his speed. One goal filled his mind 
and body: pounding Aragorn into the bed. He grabbed Aragorn's erection 
with his left hand and grasped Aragorn's left thigh with his right hand, 
pulling it tight against his chest, holding Aragorn in place. 
 
Aragorn was coming apart. Each thrust of Faramir's cock inside him set 
off an explosion of pleasure that had no time to fade before the next thrust. 
And yet he could not get enough, moving his pelvis to meet each thrust as 
it came. Faramir's hand enclosed Aragorn's erection, slid on it, squeezed it; 
Faramir's cock drove into him. The two sensations together made him 
want to scream. 
 
Then Faramir pushed down on him, bent him double, kissed his lips hard. 
Faramir's hand, still between them, moved faster on Aragorn's cock. 
 
Aragorn felt pinned, helpless, and the edges of his vision dimmed. He 
tried to kiss Faramir, but could not get enough air. One more thrust, and a 
loud cry burst from him as his orgasm convulsed him, his come covering 
their chests. Faramir thrust deeply one last time and gave a strangled 
moan, coming inside Aragorn's body. He pulled away, letting Aragorn's 
legs straighten, and they collapsed in each other's arms.
 
When they could hear something aside from their own harsh breathing, 
they were aware of a peculiar sound in the room. Eowyn. Weeping? 
 
The men looked up, alarmed. Eowyn came off the bench and almost fell 
on them both, tears running down her face. 
 
Faramir's heart lurched, but Aragorn knew the meaning of her tears; he 
grabbed Eowyn and pulled her between them. His come stained her 
nightclothes.
 
"So beautiful," Eowyn said, touching Faramir's cheek, then Aragorn's. 
"The two of you. I did not know. You are both so beautiful." Faramir felt 
an urge to weep with her, though he did not know the reason for her 
sadness. Aragorn's eyes grew red. 
 
"I am sorry," she mumbled to Aragorn. "I should not have done that." 
 
"It's all right," Aragorn said, touching her cheek. "I probably would have 
done the same, if I had been in your place." She shook her head, wordless.
 
"Eowyn, what are you sorry for?" Faramir was baffled. His look of 
bewilderment made her break down again, and she gulped for air between 
sobs.  Aragorn gripped her tightly and stroked her hair, whispering, "Hush. 
Hush. It's all right." 
 
He looked up at Faramir and smiled faintly. "She's sorry for blackmailing 
me into lying with you while she watched," he said. 
 
Faramir took in a deep, shocked breath. "You threatened to tell -- about 
Gilraen?" he shouted at Eowyn. He staggered off the bed and clenched his 
fists. 
 
Aragorn looked horrified. "No, no! Faramir! You know she would not do 
that. Never. It was not that." 
 
Faramir collapsed onto the bed, his anger draining out of him, leaving him 
exhausted. Eowyn's sobbing had burst out louder at the accusation. Her 
face turned towards Aragorn's chest, and her body shook. 
 
Faramir touched her back. "Eowyn. I'm sorry I said that -- please forgive 
me." 
 
*But what, then?* He pulled his hand away from her, as if burned, and 
demanded of Aragorn, "Then what was it?" 
 
"Nothing so important. She figured out, don't ask me how, that I had fallen 
in love with you, that was all." Aragorn rocked Eowyn back and forth 
gently. 
 
Faramir looked at him impatiently. "Please, Aragorn. What was it about?" 
 
"That *is* what it is about. I love you. I don't love you, I adore you. I 
think about you day and night." Aragorn released Eowyn and grabbed 
Faramir's arms. "I see you when I close my eyes." He gave a bark of 
laughter. "Nay, I see you when my eyes are open, although you are not 
there. I crave your touch, your smell, your voice." 
 
Faramir closed his eyes and shook his head. The words fell like a lash, 
inflaming his raw emotions. He had never expected to hear the king taunt 
him like this: Aragorn had discovered that Faramir loved him, and was 
throwing it in his face. 
 
"For the gods' sake, Aragorn, do not do this to me." Faramir pressed his 
hands over his eyes. 
 
He felt his arms yanked hard and was staring into the face of Eowyn. "He 
loves you! What does he have to do to prove it? Exile me to Tol Brandir?" 
 
Aragorn's eyes gleamed. "That might not be a bad idea," he said. Eowyn 
looked at Aragorn and they both laughed, falling on each other. Faramir 
watched them thrash helplessly in the grip of their mirth. 
 
Faramir felt the fog lifting. He smiled, and it turned into a grin. "Tol 
Brandir may not be far enough. I hear the Sea of Rhun is pleasant." 
 
His mild joke caused new paroxysms in Aragorn and Eowyn. Tears ran 
down their faces. They gripped each other, foreheads pressed together. 
Gradually they quieted, stopped laughing, and kissed, a deep, passionate 
kiss that left Faramir wide-eyed. 
 
"What is this?" Faramir cried. "You two have lost your senses!"
 
Aragorn looked up, and said, "We have lost our senses about *you*." He 
looked at Eowyn and they howled with laughter again. 
 
"I give up on you two," Faramir said with mock sternness. He rose from 
the bed and yawned, stretched, yawned again. "I could get more sense out 
of Ioreth." He went to wash himself and dress. "I think I'll go see what 
Arwen is doing," he said loudly, to no one in particular. 
 
"Wait," Aragorn said. 
 
"We'll come with you," Eowyn said.
 
*** 
 
Chapter Four
The Steward's King
 
When an exhausted, yet elated, Faramir stumbled into the king and queen's 
bedchamber later that night, he found Arwen gone. A lady-in-waiting 
directed him to the royal nursery. There he found Arwen holding a 
flushed, feverish Gilraen. Morwen and Theodwyn were also showing 
signs of illness. 
 
All plans came to a halt as the four parents nursed their children back to 
health. Aragorn spent each night in the nursery, and the other three took 
turns keeping watch with him. While the illness was not serious, the four 
of them were left somber; it could have been something deadly. 
 
When a week passed, and the children were recovered, Eowyn's and 
Faramir's visit to Minas Tirith came to an end. They went back home to 
North Ithilien, all thought of the erotic escapades that had taken place 
driven, temporarily, far from their minds. 
 
***
 
The months passed swiftly, and nearly three years were to pass before 
Eowyn and Faramir were to return, together, to Minas Tirith. Faramir 
made brief visits to the city to take counsel, but had not seen the king and 
queen. Each time, Aragorn and Arwen were gone, once on a voyage down 
the Anduin and along the coast, spending two months in Dol Amroth. 
Gilraen had gone with them. 
 
Eowyn had not left North Ithilien, occupying herself with turning their 
rough refuge into a home.  Another daughter, Rian, had been born to them. 
When Eowyn looked at her daughter's dark hair and blue-grey eyes, she 
questioned who had fathered the girl, born nine months after their visit to 
Minas Tirith. "Aragorn *cannot* be her father," she reminded herself 
sternly whenever the doubt rose in her.
 
Their current visit to Minas Tirith had no purpose that they knew of; the 
king had summoned them without explanation. It was February, and the 
weather was chill at night, so the steward and his wife resolved to leave 
the children at home in the care of their nurses. 
 
When they arrived at the city, a drenching rain was falling, and, although 
it was only noon, the sky was dark. Only a few braved the weather to see 
the travelers from afar enter the city. Faramir and Eowyn were so muffled 
in their cloaks that they were unrecognized. 
 
Leaving trails of water on the stone floors behind them, Eowyn and 
Faramir were shown to their rooms, shedding wet garments to warm 
themselves at the fire. The chambermaid left to fetch hot water for 
bathing. 
 
An hour later, Faramir was pouring hot water over Eowyn's head as she 
sat in a large copper tub. "I think you could squeeze in here," she said. The 
hot water had washed away all of her aches and pains from the journey. 
Faramir smiled and drenched her again. 
 
She spluttered, and said, "Your turn is coming. Remember that!" 
 
He regarded her fondly. She had been so young when they had married 
that, even now, seven years later, she was not yet thirty. 
 
He was forty-two and was at the peak of his beauty, something he was not 
aware of.  Eowyn watched with amusement the darting glances at her 
husband, who combined the hardiness of a man of Gondor with an unusual 
grace. 
 
Faramir went in search of a robe for his wife. As soon as he left Eowyn's 
presence, he felt wistful.  They were in the same chambers they had stayed 
in during their visit three years earlier.  He would have been dejected, 
then, if he had known that his parting from Aragorn was to last three 
years. And he had another sorrow that weighed heavily. 
 
He picked up the robe and smiled at it, thinking of Eowyn.
 
He had feared the king's revelations to Eowyn would cause a strain 
between them.  It had not come to pass; learning he had been the king's 
lover had increased Eowyn's appetite for him. After that visit, no part of 
his body was unravished by her. He was surprised the night she had 
slipped a finger in him while kissing him, breathless with both fear and 
anticipation: fear, that it was simply a whim on her part. 
 
Although there was much love and trust between them, he could not bring 
himself to ask her for those caresses. But she had licked his nipples, taken 
him into her mouth, pushed a finger into him, not just once, but on many 
occasions. She relished turning him into a helpless slave to desire. And she 
had gotten much too good at it!
 
He brought her the robe, wrapped her in it when she stood, and gratefully 
sank into the warm water when she stepped out of the bath. As soon as he 
was settled, a bucket of warm water drenched him. "Got you!" Eowyn 
said. Her laugh echoed in the stone-flagged room. She ran out the door 
when Faramir splashed her. 
 
Faramir closed his eyes, leaning back in the warm water, feeling again the 
shadow that had fallen on his heart. There were two in Minas Tirith he 
hungered to see, two he tried never to think of. Gilraen and Eldarion, the 
two children born to Arwen. Eldarion, born eight days after his daughter 
Rian, he had never seen. Gilraen was now four years old, and he had only 
seen her once. 
 
His son, his daughter. He wept for the children who would never know 
him as a father, letting the water streaming down his face hide his grief. 
 
***
 
The next day, when Faramir and Eowyn had recovered from their journey,  
Arwen and Aragorn joined them in their chambers after the evening meal.
 
While the four were delighted to be together again, too much unfinished 
business hung between them. Arwen and Eowyn had had no time alone 
since Aragorn told Eowyn the secret of his children's parentage, and it 
hindered the usual affectionate give and take between the two women. 
 
Faramir likewise felt awkward around the king. Three years earlier, 
pressured by Eowyn, the king had confessed he loved Faramir, but the 
events following had left no time to discuss it, even mention it.  
 
The situation reminded Faramir, uncomfortably, of his relationship with 
Boromir. When Faramir discovered the passion his brother had for him, 
both had retreated from the other, and it was buried, hidden, for years. 
Would the same happen with Aragorn? He could not bear to go through 
years of desiring the king, spending time with him only on matters of 
state, never seeing that body above him with the blue-grey eyes on fire... 
 
"Faramir? Faramir?" Eowyn said. He saw a tense look on her face, and 
snapped to attention, for little broke his wife's serenity. 
 
Arwen looked at the three of the race of Men she loved most in the world: 
Eowyn, Faramir, and most of all her husband, the greatest of men now 
living. 
 
With one failing: he had been unable to father a child on her after three 
years of marriage, so she had taken matters into her own hands. She 
regretted the pain that had befallen all of them as a result of her actions.  
Her heart still ached at a memory from three years earlier, when she had 
seen Faramir clutch the ailing Gilraen to his chest, tears in his eyes, as he 
thought no one observed him. *May the Valar forgive me for what I have 
done to them.* One day, she would put matters to rights. Not yet, for she 
wanted another child, and so Faramir had been summoned. 
 
As Eowyn knew of her husband's role in the children's births, Arwen and 
Aragorn agreed the matter must be put before them both this time, asking 
for Eowyn's sanction as well as the steward's. Aragorn asked Arwen to 
make the request, and she consented. He watched her rise and grasp 
Eowyn's hand in her right, Faramir's hand in her left. 
 
He let his eyes linger on Faramir for a moment longer then necessary. All 
evening long, he had felt the steward's gaze slide over him, yet a veil was 
between them. His declaration of passion to Faramir had happened so long 
ago,  sometimes he wondered if it really had happened. And Faramir did 
not return that passion, it seemed. 
 
Faramir may have been pleased, flattered, perhaps, but he had not said a 
single word of love to the king. "He likes to see me in his thrall," Aragorn 
thought with growing bitterness. "If I fall in love with him, that makes it 
all the sweeter. Now I am merely a memory. Another man he has 
discarded." 
 
For a brief,  sour moment, Aragorn wondered if Faramir had made love to 
him as a substitute for Boromir. He knew the thought was unworthy of the 
steward, and quashed it. And yet, he could not quell his fear that the 
younger man had used him, in some way.
 
Aragorn turned away as the queen gently made her request to Faramir and 
Eowyn. He could not bear to watch, for he knew he would see the answer 
in their faces immediately -- neither would dissemble. For Arwen's 
happiness, may they agree, he breathed silently. May they agree. 
 
He looked up and saw Eowyn and Faramir embrace the queen, and let his 
head droop in relief. It was done. The king and queen of Gondor would 
have another heir. 
 
***
 
The business settled, the four sat around the fire, sipping wine. 
 
They were freer now with each other, and Aragorn felt some small 
comfort when Faramir embraced him after embracing Arwen. On soft 
couches, lit only by firelight, they talked easily, with many silences, as old 
friends do.
 
"Perhaps this could be enough," Aragorn thought. Faramir sat next to him, 
and he could feel the man's thigh touching his. He moved away, the 
softness of the cushions throwing them together again. "Friendship from 
such a man should be enough for me," he thought. He smiled softly -- 
lecturing himself was not something he did often these days. It made him 
feel young again. 
 
He heard Eowyn's clear, infectious laugh at something Arwen said. Arwen 
stood and tapped her goblet, the ringing sound bringing them to silence. 
 
"My lords!" Arwen said. Her face was mischievous. "Eowyn has made a 
suggestion, and I have agreed with her. She shall join us tonight." Arwen 
looked at Faramir and Aragorn for agreement, and saw only stunned faces. 
She laughed and sat back down, whispering in Eowyn's ear. Eowyn 
whispered back, and Arwen stood again. 
 
"Unless, Elessar, you were planning on keeping her company again," 
Arwen said. There was no mistaking her teasing now. The two men stared 
at the two women: they had been outflanked, outmaneuvered. Made fools 
of!
 
A silence fell over them, and Aragorn broke it by fetching more wine and 
refilling their glasses. The idle chat started again, and he sought to calm 
himself. Eowyn joining them had not startled the king. His distress sprung 
from the expectation that he would lie with Arwen and Faramir, as well. 
 
Seeing Faramir in the throes of passion, again.  How could he watch, 
unmoved? In his agitation, he dropped his glass, and a minor commotion 
followed as the mess was cleared and a new glass filled for him. 
 
***
 
Aragorn was not surprised when the women began it. They kissed each 
other, chastely, joined hands, and left to the bedroom. Both stopped to 
look at the men before leaving the room. They are quite sure of 
themselves, Aragorn thought, amused in spite of himself. They know we 
will come running! 
 
He had to admit that seeing the two women together was rousing him. He 
looked at Faramir, and saw the younger man eyeing the doorway to the 
bedroom with excitement.
 
He stood up and somewhat awkwardly offered his hand to Faramir. 
Faramir blushed as he took it. "I'm making a mess of this," Aragorn 
thought. "Perhaps I could plead illness. Old age." 
 
Faramir stood and Aragorn considered whether he should give him the 
same chaste kiss the women had shared. Before he could screw himself up 
to do it, Faramir turned to the bedroom. 
 
When they entered, the two women were undressed and in the large bed. 
A candle flickered dimly on a low table, and the fire in the fireplace had 
turned to embers. 
 
He stood by the doorway with Faramir as the two women kissed again. 
They kissed slowly and gently, with frequent pauses, lips brushing lips, 
each of them caressing the other's face with soft fingertips. They were 
unbelievably slow and gentle, and Aragorn suddenly felt that, for all these 
years, Arwen must have found his touches unbearably harsh, rough. He 
took a step towards the bed. Faramir stopped him, hissing in his ear, "Sit." 
 
Faramir pulled him to an upholstered bench. "Just watch," he said in a 
faint voice. 
 
Watch! Aragorn realized the full extent of the torture in store for him. The 
blanket covering the women slipped away as their fingertips glided lower. 
When Arwen's hands lightly touched Eowyn's breasts, he felt himself 
harden. Eowyn touched Arwen's breasts, and once again the incredibly 
slow, light strokes were shared between them. 
 
The minutes slipped by as the two men watched lovemaking in slow 
motion. Twenty minutes passed, and the women were still lightly stroking 
each other, lips brushing cheeks, eyes. Aragorn was breathing audibly, and 
his hand moved to take hold of himself and relieve the pressure. He 
stopped, checked by the steward next to him. If Faramir uncovered his 
own erection, he couldn't bear it; he would lose control and cover the 
steward's cock with his mouth. So Aragorn kept himself covered, and 
silently implored Faramir to do the same. 
 
The women were not only slow, they were silent, though once in a while a 
deep breath could be heard. Then, without warning, their movements 
changed. He saw Arwen's fingertips close tightly on Eowyn's erect 
nipples, Arwen pressing her mouth hard to Eowyn's, thrusting in her 
tongue. 
 
Eowyn gasped loudly and her back arched. When Arwen took a nipple in 
her mouth, the men saw Eowyn's body tremble. Arwen placed her hands 
on either side of Eowyn's small, full, breasts, and squeezed them together, 
pushing the nipples close to each other.  Arwen took both nipples in her 
mouth and sucked hard. Eowyn writhed and Arwen moved on top of her to 
still her movements. She lifted her hips so she was on her knees, her upper 
body resting on Eowyn. 
 
Since the men were near the foot of the bed, the sight was devastating. 
Looking at Arwen from behind, her buttocks in the air, her legs spread, 
was too much for the king. Without realizing it, he stood and moved 
toward the bed. Faramir grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. 
 
"Wait," Faramir said. Sweat sheened his face. 
 
The two of them sat. Eowyn's writhing had changed the women's' position 
-- they were sideways to the two men. They could see Eowyn's fingers 
pinching Arwen's nipples. 
 
Arwen moved a leg so her knee was between Eowyn's thighs, and both 
men groaned softly when Eowyn moved her hips to rub against Arwen. 
 
The slowness and gentleness were gone. The women were breathing 
loudly, moving all over the bed, as they sought to caress each other. 
 
Abruptly, Arwen broke off from sucking on Eowyn's nipples, her tongue 
aggressively roaming as if she wanted to lick Eowyn all over. Aragorn 
groaned in anticipation and shifted on the bench, trying to relieve the 
pressure in his leggings. Faramir was restless as well. Both men were 
leaning forward as if about to start a race, their hands on the bench, 
bracing them.
 
At last Arwen's tongue reached her destination, the golden hair between 
Eowyn's thighs. Slowly and deliberately, she licked around and near 
Eowyn's center of desire, coming closer and closer as the blond woman 
moaned. Arwen moved her hands up and squeezed Eowyn's nipples, hard. 
Finally, Arwen licked directly between Eowyn's thighs. 
 
Eowyn's moans mixed with her harsh breathing, Arwen's hair spilling over 
her belly and thighs. Arwen moved her right hand off Eowyn's breast, 
spreading her fingers on the left hand to caress both nipples. Both men 
suppressed a gasp when Arwen placed her free hand between her own 
thighs and rubbed frantically. 
 
Unconsciously, Aragorn gripped Faramir's hand next to him and squeezed 
it hard, preparing himself to watch Eowyn orgasm; he slumped in 
disappointment when Eowyn heaved Arwen away and pushed her flat. 
Arwen was on her back, her feet towards the men again. Eowyn climbed 
atop her, then turned to face the queen's feet. For a moment the men were 
puzzled, then cried out when Eowyn's tongue licked between Arwen's 
thighs, and Arwen pulled Eowyn's hips over her head and reached with her 
tongue to lick the soft pink folds. 
 
The two women were locked together, their cries muffled by their hair and 
flesh. Aragorn realized he had grasped Faramir's hand when he felt the 
steward give it a painful squeeze.
 
 Fortunately, the men were released from their torture shortly. They 
watched Eowyn insert two fingers into Arwen and plunge them in swiftly; 
they could tell from Arwen's movements she was doing the same to 
Eowyn, although they could not see it. Within moments both women came 
with breathless screams. They fell apart, then drew back together, side by 
side, foreheads touching, eyes closed, arms wrapped around each other. 
 
Aragorn let out an enormous breath. Faramir's hand in his was soaked with 
their sweat. He let the steward's hand go and wiped his own hand on his 
leggings, gasping painfully when he accidentally touched his erection.
 
Faramir stood and went to his wife, caressing her cheek. He covered the 
two women with a blanket. The candle had gone out and a red glow from 
the embers in the fireplace lit the room. 
 
Aragorn rose and kissed Arwen's brow. Her eyes opened and she looked at 
him sleepily. "Later, my love," she mumbled. "Later." Faramir got only 
incoherent sounds out of Eowyn. 
 
Aragorn could not resist -- he bent down to kiss Arwen, to taste Eowyn on 
her lips. "Must sleep," Arwen said. Her eyes closed again.
 
The men stepped back from the bed. Aragorn started to speak, but Faramir 
beckoned him out of the room. In the sitting room, the painfully aroused 
men stood by a couch to talk. "I think they want to sleep now," Faramir 
rasped, standing awkwardly. Aragorn nodded, gestured to Faramir to 
follow him, and headed to the royal bedchambers. 
 
*** 
 
When they entered the rooms, Aragorn realized with a shock that it was 
the first time he had been alone with the steward, with no fear of 
interruption, for three years. He kept his face turned away from Faramir, 
afraid that his aching need could be seen in his eyes. 
 
Aragorn gestured towards a bed in a curtained alcove. "Take that," he said, 
and moved towards his own bed. 
 
Faramir went to the bed and sat on it, gritting his teeth as his breeches 
compressed his erection painfully. It was the same curtained alcove where 
Arwen and Aragorn had first seduced him. Five years ago now? The 
curtains were open and he could see Aragorn, in the bright moonlight, 
undress by his bed, twenty feet away. The bed of the king and queen was 
nearly as large as a small house, with a carved wooden headboard and 
footboard that rose to the high ceiling. The embroidered draperies that 
enclosed the sides were pulled back.  
 
Faramir stripped off his clothes, sighing when the pressure was relieved on 
his groin, then covered himself with a blanket.
 
The king kept his back to him as he undressed. Faramir wondered why the 
king wished to hide his arousal. When the king was down to his breeches, 
Faramir croaked out, "Aragorn. Come here." 
 
The king hesitated, then turned and walked to him. He stopped outside the 
open curtains, four feet from Faramir. "What is it?" Aragorn asked. His 
eyes looked at the wall, not Faramir's face. The bulge in his breeches was 
apparent. 
 
Faramir laughed ruefully. "I won't be able to sleep." Faramir touched 
himself through the blanket, then uncovered himself to reveal his erection, 
grasping it with one hand. 
 
Aragorn did not move to Faramir, though he ached to put his mouth over 
him, suck on him, feel the come pulse down the back of his throat. 
 
Faramir looked up at him beseechingly. "Please. Touch me." He pushed 
the blanket off completely, lying naked on the bed. He spread his arms and 
legs wide, to welcome Aragorn into his embrace. 
 
He felt rising anguish as Aragorn stood silently, not making a move 
towards him. He had expected that, eventually, he and Aragorn would 
make love. Aragorn's silence frightened him. The king did not seem to 
want, or expect, Faramir's overtures. 
 
Faramir's mind filled with doubt. He was sure that Aragorn had never slept 
with another man, only he. Was Aragorn disgusted by him? Had he 
decided that his bedding of Faramir three years back was something to be 
cast away as shameful, an aberration, unnatural... 
 
While Faramir's mind considered this disaster, his hand had other ideas, 
squeezing his erection, pumping up and down. Come leaked out of the tip 
and made his skin slick. "Aragorn," he murmured, his eyes locked on the 
king's face. *Come to me, my love. I am dying with need.*  His hand 
pumped faster and faster. His glance was caught by Aragorn's erection, 
outlined under the tight cloth, and this pushed him over the edge. He 
came, semen erupting over his lap and hand. 
 
Aragorn stood, frozen. Faramir had hardly touched him since his arrival, 
not even a kiss, and his demand for physical release left the king feeling 
empty, bereft.  Was he nothing more to Faramir than a body to be used for 
pleasure, then put aside? The man had no feelings for him. A hollowness 
filled him. Aragorn took a step back, then another. Finally, he turned 
swiftly and climbed into his bed, removing his breeches under the cover of 
the blankets. 
 
The king's erection throbbed, reminding him of the body steps away. He 
could go to him, thrust his cock into Faramir's mouth... Finally, his hand 
wrapped around his erection, and with a few swift strokes he came 
violently, struggling to be silent. 
 
Faramir was crushed when the king stepped back, rejecting him. The 
semen on his thighs and belly turned cold and sticky. He pulled the 
blankets to his chin, staring up at the ceiling with dry, burning eyes. He 
thought he heard Aragorn giving himself release. The bedclothes rustled, 
and Aragorn gave a suppressed groan. 
 
Faramir's eyes welled with tears. The king no longer loved him. He 
struggled to swallow his sobs, his breathing loud in the small alcove. 
Across the room, the king heard his harsh breathing and assumed the 
steward was once again pleasuring himself with his hand. 
 
Aragorn closed his eyes and prayed for sleep.
 
***
 
Two days passed, and each night Faramir made love to the queen. Aragorn 
did not join them, pleading pressing business, staying late in his study 
each night. He did not know if Eowyn joined Arwen and the steward, and 
he did not ask. The three of them stayed out of the royal bedchambers. 
Every night, Aragorn went to bed alone; each morning, when he woke, 
Arwen was at his side. 
 
He avoided her gaze, the tenderness in her large blue eyes making him 
want to blurt out the pain. 
 
He had thought Faramir was his lover in all senses of the word; instead 
Faramir had used him. His mind went back to Faramir's tale of his lover, 
Mardil, who had seduced the steward when he was sixteen. Faramir had 
confessed to the king that he could not hate Mardil, for he had used him 
for his resemblance to Boromir. That he has done so unwittingly did not 
excuse him, Faramir felt.
 
And Faramir's other lovers? A doubting voice whispered in Aragorn's 
mind. The steward had spent years in remote Ithilien, solely in the 
company of men. Aragorn was supposed to believe he had never laid a 
hand on one of them? Even now, while Ithilien was resettled, Faramir 
commanded a large force of Ithilien Rangers, who had turned from 
warfare to forestry.
 
While Aragorn sat over his papers and seethed, Faramir lost himself in 
sex. Arwen and Eowyn were eager to explore everything that could be 
done between a man and two women, and Faramir gave himself 
completely to their exploits. 
 
Each night left him exhausted, nearly stunned. He was grateful, for it 
blocked the pain of Aragorn's rejection. He thought back to Boromir's 
young men, and smiled sadly to himself. *Ah, brother, I understand now. 
It does help to keep a heart from breaking.*
 
Another night passed, and Aragorn stayed away. The misery might have 
continued indefinitely, if not for Arwen. Eowyn had told her of all that had 
passed between the two men three years earlier. The queen resolved to 
take action.
 
On the fourth night, after Arwen and Eowyn and Faramir were caressing 
each other in bed, but before any of them had found release, Arwen 
executed her plan. She was between Faramir and Eowyn; both of them 
were kissing her, one on each ear, their hands roaming over her body. She 
was panting with desire when she pulled away. 
 
"I wonder if Estel has come down to bed. I'm worried about him; he's been 
working long hours. I think we should go see him. Disturb his sleep." She 
smiled wickedly; Eowyn, knowing of the plot, smiled back. Faramir said 
nothing.
 
The two women rose and dressed in the minimum of clothing required to 
get to the royal chambers in decency. Faramir stood with them, making no 
move to dress, until the two women stopped and pointedly waited for him. 
 
He followed them down the hall, dreading what lay ahead. 
 
***
 
Aragorn woke to two pairs of lips on his face. Soft giggling filled the 
darkness. "Estel, wake up," Arwen said. She and Eowyn surrounded 
Aragorn, breathing on his neck, his ears. Faramir near the end of the bed, 
looking at anything other than Aragorn. 
 
Arwen was to his left, kissing him. On his right, Eowyn pulled Faramir 
next to her, her back to Aragorn. The women stripped off their clothing, 
and, giggling, Eowyn undressed Faramir. Aragorn was already naked. 
After years of sleeping in his clothes, wrapped in his cloak, he could not 
get enough of the feel of clean sheets on his skin.
 
In spite of his foul mood, the women's bare flesh sliding over him, their 
hair tickling his chest, aroused Aragorn. He felt himself grow hard, and it 
humiliated him, for he did not want Faramir to see him in such a state.
 
He thought of the women's torture of him four days earlier, and his 
breathing quickened when they kissed over him. He looked at Faramir, 
whose eyes were fixed on him. Faramir looked guiltily away. The naked 
steward was aroused, his cock stiff. 
 
Aragorn was disgusted with himself. He still craved Faramir, and, even 
now, he was tempted to take him in his arms and make love to him. 
 
Eowyn crawled over him to get to Arwen, leaving him next to Faramir. 
The steward's eyes stared hungrily. 
 
"I suppose you want help with that," Aragorn said coldly, looking at 
Faramir's cock. The steward's gaze roved over him, fastening on Aragorn's 
erection, then looked away. Aragorn snorted. "You want only one thing, 
don't you?" he whispered to Faramir. 
 
He moved closer to the steward's side. He did not lay his hands on the 
steward, merely inched nearer until their erections touched. Faramir 
gasped, and moved to embrace Aragorn, but Aragorn pushed his arms 
away. 
 
Aragorn began to enjoy the situation: Faramir might not care for him, but 
Aragorn could still affect him. Control him.  He imagined Faramir on his 
knees, begging for release. Or, better yet, under him, his legs wrapped 
around Aragorn, so that Aragorn could watch the pleading on his face... 
 
He stood, lifting the startled Faramir in his arms, carrying him to the bed 
Faramir had spent a miserable night on four days earlier. Aragorn tossed 
the steward roughly on the bed, then yanked the alcove's curtains closed. 
 
Faramir lay speechless on the bed where Aragorn had thrown him. The 
naked king approached him across the bed, on his hands and knees, until 
his mouth was only inches from Faramir's cock. "Do you want me?" he 
asked, staring into Faramir's eyes. When Faramir whispered "Yes," 
Aragorn snorted derisively. 
 
Both men turned their heads, hearing the women rise, discussing a raid on 
the King's House larders. "I'm so hungry!" they heard Eowyn say. The 
door to the bedroom opened and closed, leaving them in silence.
 
Aragorn turned back to Faramir, satisfied to note that the steward already 
had a pleading expression. 
 
Faramir looked at the crouching king with awe. As he watched Aragorn on 
his hands and knees, coming closer and closer, the muscles sliding under 
Aragorn's skin made him breathless. The king's hair tumbled over his 
shoulders, and his blue-grey eyes were hot.  The scornful look in 
Aragorn's face did not dampen his ardour.
 
Thoughts flickered through the turmoil in Faramir's mind. The king found 
the steward's unnatural desires disgusting, that much was plain. From the 
look on the king's face, Faramir feared Aragorn meant to humiliate him, 
punish him, in some way. 
 
But he could not stop his body from responding to the sight in front of 
him. He was helpless in the grip of those eyes. He licked dry lips. How 
would the king punish him? Whatever happened, he would not humiliate 
himself by pleading for mercy... 
 
Thought fled when his ankles were grasped and he was pulled flat on the 
bed. Aragorn's body covered him. Faramir involuntarily jerked upwards 
and felt Aragorn pull away. Faramir fought the urge to push himself 
against Aragorn. 
 
"So, what do you want?" Aragorn asked. He trailed a fingertip over 
Faramir's lips. The insolent tone of his voice made Faramir shiver. "Do 
you want me inside you?" Faramir groaned when Aragorn ground his hips 
into him. "Sucking your cock? Or perhaps you want me on my knees?" 
 
Faramir swallowed. What would be the safest answer, with the least risk 
of punishment? He looked into Aragorn's face and knew it was hopeless. 
He wanted Aragorn inside him so badly nothing else mattered. "Inside 
me." 
 
"Of course," Aragorn said. His voice was neutral. "Are you ready for me?" 
His face belied his concerned words. Not waiting for an answer, he flipped 
Faramir over and pulled him up onto his hands and knees. Faramir felt a 
touch of panic. Was the king going to take him with no preparation? His 
breath came faster and his heart pounded. 
 
Aragorn heard the hitch in Faramir's breathing and smiled.
 
Faramir repressed a plea when Aragorn spread his cheeks roughly. When 
the touch came, he nearly screamed. Not a rough entry, but a wet tongue 
sliding over his opening. The tongue pressed into him and he moaned. He 
thought he heard the king snicker. 
 
Aragorn, sitting back on his haunches, pulled Faramir closer, so that his 
folded legs were under the steward's hips, forcing them up. He leaned 
forward to lick Faramir's opening again, sliding his hands underneath the 
steward to caress his nipples. His hair tickled Faramir's back. He pointedly 
did not touch the steward's pulsing erection. 
 
The tongue thrust into him again and Faramir let out a sound that startled 
him. It was high-pitched, helpless, the sound a woman might make.  He 
felt Aragorn's breath huff against him in laughter, and even that made him 
moan. Aragorn grinned and blew across the wet, aroused skin. 
 
Faramir's determination to not plead was crumbling. "Aragorn," he 
moaned. The tongue flicked at him, pressed into him. Fingers pinched his 
nipples. His erection brushed against Aragorn's legs. 
 
"Was there something you wanted?" Aragorn asked. His tongue pushed in 
again. 
 
"Yes," Faramir said in a strangled voice. "I want you inside of me." He 
tried not to groan as the tongue entered him again. Instead of thrusting in 
and out, Aragorn's tongue stayed in and probed for a while, and another 
helpless moan burst from him. He felt Aragorn's saliva running down his 
body, onto his balls. 
 
"I'm not sure you really want that," Aragorn said. 
 
"I do!"
 
"Will you ask nicely?" Aragorn said in a maddeningly calm voice. Faramir 
felt absurdly close to tears, and a small sob escaped him. 
 
Aragorn could not continue the torture; his own erection was ready to 
burst. The sight of Faramir kneeling in front of him, his helpless moans, 
had aroused him painfully. He licked his fingers and dampened his cock, 
being careful not to touch himself for too long. 
 
Roughly he rolled Faramir onto his back, still avoiding Faramir's erection. 
Three years earlier, Faramir had entered him face to face, and the king 
wanted to try the same, as it would let him feast his eyes on Faramir's 
imploring face. 
 
He pulled Faramir's hips close to his crotch, then draped the steward's legs 
over his shoulders, pushing down with his chest so that Faramir's body 
was bent in half. Faramir did not struggle at all; he was almost limp. 
Aragorn moved the tip of his erection to Faramir's opening, still soaked 
with his spit, and slowly, carefully, slid in. Faramir gasped and writhed, so 
Aragorn put his arms outside of Faramir's bent legs, holding him in place. 
 
Slowly, Aragorn pulled out a little, then pushed back in. He struggled to 
keep his face impassive while Faramir's body clenched and slid around his 
cock maddeningly. Aragorn increased his pace, watching the steward's 
head thrash from side to side. His hands clutched at Aragorn's back, his 
fingers digging in.  Faramir's erection pressed into his belly. Aragorn 
snaked one arm between them and lightly stroked the hard cock. 
 
Fighting back the urge to thrust mindlessly into the body beneath him, the 
king watched Faramir intently, looking for any sign that the steward was 
going to come. He thrust harder and faster until he saw Faramir clench his 
face. 
 
At that moment, Aragorn stopped moving. He was inside Faramir; his 
erection screamed to thrust against the tight wet flesh surrounding it. He 
let go of Faramir's cock.
 
Faramir focused dazed eyes on Aragorn's face. Aragorn leaned forward, 
bending him even more, and kissed him on the lips. "Had enough?" he 
asked. His cock throbbed inside of Faramir. He made one leisurely thrust; 
Faramir moaned. "Do you want more?" the king demanded. 
 
Ah, thought Faramir, my punishment begins. "Yes, I want more," he said, 
trying to keep his voice steady. A slow thrust made him gasp. 
 
"Convince me," Aragorn said. He kissed Faramir hard, his teeth bruising 
the steward's lips. He thrust his tongue into Faramir's mouth, and Faramir 
sucked on it desperately. When Aragorn thrust again, he almost bit the 
tongue. 
 
"I'll do anything," Faramir said. Once, long ago, there had been a Faramir 
who was never going to ask for mercy; he felt sympathy for this former, 
naive self. "Tell me what to do." 
 
Aragorn paused, his mind and heart racing. "Beg, then." 
 
"I beg you," Faramir said, his words turned to moans by another slow 
thrust. Aragorn's hand reached between them and enclosed his cock again. 
 
"Go on," Aragorn growled. He thrust again in a regular rhythm. "Keep 
begging." His hand moved faster on Faramir's erection, sliding easily 
because of the sweat that soaked both men. 
 
"I beg you, please... " Faramir gasped as Aragorn moved faster. He felt 
sweat fall from Aragorn's face onto his own. "I beg you, Aragorn. To love 
me. Please. Love me." 
 
"Love you?" Aragorn gasped. He was losing control; he felt his release 
building in him, unstoppable. 
 
Faramir screamed out, "Yes. I love you!" His come soaked Aragorn's 
chest, his body convulsed, and the contractions forced Aragorn over the 
edge. He came with his lips on Faramir's, both their mouths open, panting 
for breath. 
 
Aragorn slid out of Faramir's body, letting the steward's cramped legs 
stretch out. Aragorn breathed his words into Faramir's mouth. "I do love 
you," he said. "So much... you don't have to beg for it. By the gods, 
Faramir, don't you know that I love you?" He crushed Faramir's mouth 
under his, his arms around Faramir's chest, squeezing so tightly Faramir 
had trouble breathing. 
 
"You don't know that I love you," Aragorn said, sounding genuinely 
shocked. Faramir laughed with wet eyes. "I thought it was the other way 
around," Faramir said. "It seems you did not know that *I* love *you*." 
 
Aragorn regarded him tenderly. "We're both idiots," he said fondly. "My 
dear ass, I have loved you since the day you opened your eyes in the 
Houses of Healing. Admittedly not as much as I love you now," he 
chuckled. "But since that day you so bravely resisted my advances in 
Ithilien" -- Aragorn paused to duck Faramir's swat -- "I have loved you." 
 
"Then *you* are an idiot, because I have loved you, *as much* as I do 
now, since the Houses of Healing." Faramir said smugly. Aragorn looked 
at him disbelievingly. 
 
"Someday, I'll tell you about my dreams, while I lay there in the darkness, 
and you called to me," Faramir said. His eyes teared again and Aragorn 
kissed him gently. 
 
"These dreams sound filthy," Aragorn teased. "Was I naked in them?" 
 
"No, not at all," Faramir said. "Well, perhaps you were a bit naked. I'll tell 
you about them sometime. Not now. You have worn me out completely. 
And I'm hungry. I wonder if Arwen and Eowyn managed to get anything 
from the larder." 
 
Aragorn laughed so hard tears streaked his face. "*You* are definitely the 
idiot. They didn't go to the larder, you fool! That was an excuse for the 
ladies to leave you to my mercy." 
 
Twenty minutes later, his mouth full of bread and cheese, Aragorn was 
glad to find out he had been wrong. 
 
 
***
 
The king and queen of Gondor, and the prince and princess of Ithilien, 
yawned through the next day. They felt a flicker of energy return when a 
messenger brought word of Arwen's brothers riding to Minas Tirith.
 
"They are in Ithilien now, and should be here -- today!" Arwen said, 
pleased. Her brothers were all that remained of her family in Middle-earth, 
and it comforted her greatly to talk to them. Elladan and Elrohir had not 
yet met either of the children, and she bustled about in the nursery, 
preparing the youngsters for their first meeting with their uncles. 
 
Eldarion, because of his youth, was spared most of this, but Gilraen, aged 
four, was dressed in some of her finest clothes, and sulked when her 
mother told her she had to stay clean, at least until dinner. 
 
Excited as well, for he thought of Elladan and Elrohir as his brothers, 
Aragorn went to the kitchens to check on the evening meal. All of the 
Citadel's household would gather in the Great Hall to dine. Arwen and 
Eowyn went to the city's highest battlement, seven hundred feet up, to 
look out far across the plain. From there, they would be able to see the two 
Half-elven men when they were still miles off. 
 
At two hours before sunset, Arwen saw a tiny cloud of dust. It quickly 
turned into two tall men, dark haired, riding grey horses. Eowyn laughed 
at Arwen's excitement:  Arwen had shrieked, then darted back to the 
nursery. 
 
More leisurely, Eowyn followed. She met Faramir on her way to the 
King's House, and he smiled and caught her hands. For a moment, they 
looked at each other, love in their faces. Faramir leaned close to kiss her, 
and she whispered in his ear, "I should give you fair warning: I have 
learned many new things."  He laughed, and they went inside, arm in arm. 
 
Riding swiftly, Arwen's brothers arrived half an hour later, and Aragorn 
rode down to the first city gate to meet them. He took the brothers directly 
to their rooms in the Citadel so that they could wash and change their 
clothing after the long journey, for he knew that, once Arwen was with 
them, they would talk long into the night. 
 
Prior to dinner, Arwen presented her two children to their uncles, pride in 
her face. Elladan and Elrohir admired the children, and Elrohir went to lift 
Gilraen, but the girl let out a wail. "You're not my uncles," she cried. 
"You're Elves!" She was bewildered by the laughter that broke out, and 
Arwen led Gilraen away to explain things to her a little more clearly.
 
In the Great Hall, the six sat alone together at a table on a dais. At other 
tables, Arwen's ladies-in-waiting, the Tower Guard, and the rest of the 
household dined merrily. After the meal, the six stayed at the table, 
sipping wine and talking. The children were in bed, not before Gilraen had 
allowed Elladan and Elrohir to give her a brief kiss on each cheek.  
 
Faramir and Eowyn felt a little unease at first in such company, for the 
sons of Elrond were twins who looked so much alike that they marveled 
that Arwen could tell them apart. Indeed, it seemed that Aragorn had some 
trouble doing so. What was beautiful and gentle in Arwen was in them 
wild, almost frightening. Their dark hair, grey eyes, and pale skin 
reminded Eowyn of wolves she had once seen in the snow in the hills 
above Edoras. She looked up to see Elladan -- or was it Elrohir? -- smiling 
at her, as if he knew her thoughts. She blushed, and was relieved when 
Arwen addressed them all. 
 
"My brothers, it gives me great joy that you have come at last. I'm sure 
that eventually Gilraen will welcome you." They laughed and toasted each 
other. 
 
"I pray that she will accept us, sister, for your sake," Elladan told his 
sister. "And I must congratulate you, or perhaps Aragorn, on the foresight 
that led you to name her Gilraen. For she is as like to her as I am to 
Elrohir." He was surprised at the silence at the table. "Do not doubt me," 
he said, "or perhaps you forget that I saw her at that age, in Rivendell, 
years ago. Indeed, she looks like Aragorn at four, though thankfully much 
prettier." Again he was surprised at the silence. He picked up his glass and 
drained it, scowling at the empty glass as if it were to blame. 
 
Aragorn caught Arwen's eye in confusion, and was shocked to see a deep 
red blush engulf her face. The entire company stared at her, for none of 
them, except her brothers, had ever seen her so. Elrohir, looking into her 
eyes, stood, and said, "We have dawdled too long over our cups, and must 
let you folk rest. For we could talk all night -- being Elves." The company 
dutifully laughed, rose, and departed. Arwen walked quickly to the royal 
chambers, hearing Aragorn's soft footfalls behind her. 
 
Eowyn and Faramir looked at each other, mystified. They went to their 
rooms and discussed what to do next. Faramir felt they should simply 
wait, but Eowyn found that difficult to accept. Finally, she settled on the 
couch by the fire. 
 
"Perhaps you could tell me of what happened last night with Aragorn, 
while we wait," she said teasingly. Faramir blushed. His wife looked at 
him with shining eyes. 
 
She and Arwen had been speechless when Aragorn had lifted Faramir up, 
as if to ravish him. The two women had gone to eat a late meal, giggling 
as they discussed clothes and other frivolous topics. At last, they had piled 
into the bed in Eowyn's room and giggled for other reasons. Later, the men 
had arrived, and they had eaten together, but the events of the evening 
were not discussed. Arwen and Aragorn had left for their own room right 
after the meal was finished. 
 
Faramir sat next to her and smiled somewhat shyly, his face still red. "I'm 
not sure I can talk about it, yet," he said. "You know that I love him. He 
loves me," he finished, and blushed deeper. 
 
"Of course he does, Faramir," Eowyn said gently, and kissed him. 
 
***
 
Meanwhile, Aragorn watched Arwen warily as she paced the room. He 
said nothing, for he knew she would tell him everything he needed to 
know in good time. Before speaking, she undressed, put on nightclothes, 
and climbed into the bed. He joined her, stripping off everything before 
getting under the blankets. 
 
"Aragorn," Arwen began, "I must tell you a story." Her usually flawless 
voice squeaked. "Once, there was an old man and an old woman who 
wanted children more than anything in the world. The years went by, and 
their wishes went unanswered. At last, after giving up all hope, they took 
into their home an infant, orphaned." She paused. "What happens next, do 
you think?"
 
Aragorn thought for a moment. "The woman becomes with child, and they 
end up having a huge family," he said, puzzled. "It's happened time and 
time again. I don't see the point... "
 
"No, of course not. I know the question in your mind. You are asking 
yourself if Gilraen is your child. She is, as is Eldarion." She moved closer 
to him and laid a hand on his. He took her hand and stared at it. Gradually 
his head bowed, until it was resting on their joined hands, and she saw a 
sob shake him. Tears soaked her hand. She did not move, letting him have 
a moment alone. 
 
He sat up, his eyes streaming, and said simply, "Tell me all."
 
Arwen quickly told him that each time she had lain with Faramir, she had 
not been fertile. She had a hope, admittedly fragile, that what had worked 
for the childless couples through the ages would work for them. And it 
had. Twice now, after she had lain with Faramir, she had become 
pregnant, two weeks later, perhaps less, by Aragorn. Aragorn was now 
smiling through his tears, and they were entwined on the bed. 
 
"How does it work?" he whispered to himself, in wonder. 
 
"I am not sure. Is it that, once the pressure is gone, the body relaxes? Or is 
it competitiveness? I think the latter," Arwen said. "Which is why it had to 
be Faramir. I know you admire him more than any other man; no other 
man would have seemed a threat to you."
 
"I lay with you, thinking you already pregnant!" 
 
"Yes. And then I became pregnant. I was surprised you never questioned 
how long the pregnancies lasted," she said, laughing. "And I know what 
you thought -- you thought it was because I am, was, an Elf, and gestation 
does take longer for us -- for them. But I am as a mortal woman," she said, 
and for a moment an old grief touched them.
 
Aragorn broke the silence. "It didn't have to be Faramir, did it? Since you 
had no intention of having his child?"
 
"Well, no, it did not." 
 
He watched in fascination as her face turned rosy again. "It could have 
been any man?" he said, keeping his face stern.
 
"Perhaps. Does it really matter?" 
 
He caught her in his arms and laughed, kissing her repeatedly. "I will 
never trust you again." He raised a hand as she protested. "I will never 
trust you again, for I find that, when I thought you were trying to break my 
heart, you were trying to heal it." 
 
It was Arwen's turn to weep. Aragorn kissed her wet cheeks, and asked, 
"Tell me, are you fertile now?" She nodded. "Good," he whispered. 
 
***
 
The next day, he rose early and went to Eowyn and Faramir. Eowyn was 
still abed, asleep; Faramir was sitting by the still smoldering fire, as if he 
had sat up all night. Aragorn suddenly saw into his heart, and led the 
steward out into the gardens before telling him, holding him while Faramir 
wept for the children he did not have. The grief did not last long, for 
Faramir was filled with joy for Aragorn and Arwen. 
 
"I must admit this has lifted a great burden from my mind. I feared what to 
say, twenty years hence, when Eldarion asks for Rian's hand in marriage," 
Faramir said teasingly. He was taken aback by the shadow that crossed 
Aragorn's face. "What is it, my lord?" Faramir asked. Aragorn smiled at 
the honorific, and said, "It is nothing." He was counting the days from 
when he had lain with Eowyn and Rian's birth.
 
The next day, Eowyn and Faramir prepared to leave. The news had, 
perhaps understandably, left Faramir with a burning wish to see his 
children, to hold them in his arms, so he and Eowyn left hastily, glad that 
Aragorn and Arwen had the company of her brothers. 
 
That afternoon, their Elvishness apparently forgiven, Elladan and Elrohir 
were pressed by Gilraen into giving her "pony rides," crawling about on 
their hands and knees on the grass in the King's House garden, while she 
sat on their backs or fed them apples. Arwen and Aragorn sat side by side, 
Eldarion stretched asleep across their laps, peace filling their hearts. 
 
Later that night, Aragorn made love to Arwen. He had an overpowering 
urge to see her pregnant again, and she was full willing to try. Later, deep 
in sleep, Arwen woke when Aragorn sat bolt upright in the bed, an 
exclamation falling from his lips.
 
"What is, my dear?" Arwen asked. 
 
"It's terrible!" Aragorn said. "There is no reason to have Eowyn and 
Faramir here, ah, overnight, again!" 
 
"There is not?"
 
"No!" 
 
"All four of us have not been together yet. How will we know if this bed 
will stand up to such a strain, if not by putting it to the test?" 
 
Aragorn looked at her, startled. All four of them? She was right: it had not 
yet happened. 
 
"And, then, Aragorn, there are the trips you will take with Faramir 
throughout the kingdom."
 
"There are?"
 
"Yes. Quite long trips, I should imagine. And while you are gone, Eowyn 
and I will go to Edoras, so the children can spend a summer there together. 
I wish to select their ponies myself, with Eowyn's help, of course, and find 
a yearling that will be fit for Eldarion later."
 
"You and Eowyn have already planned this!" Aragorn roared.
 
Arwen laughed. "Someone must make plans, it seems." 
 
Aragorn did not answer, falling back into the pillows with a smile. All 
four of them. There was so much to try. He had not yet taken Faramir 
from behind, while Faramir was taking the queen. And the same with 
Eowyn. And Arwen had yet to see the two men make love. Yes! She, and 
Eowyn, would be paid back for the torture they had inflicted on the two 
men.  And then... 
 
Two hours later, as Arwen slept, Aragorn was still making plans. 
 
THE END
 
Revised 10/27/2003