Title: Riders and Stewards
Author: Lady Jet
Author’s E-Mail: lady.jet@gmail.com
Pairings: Boromir/Éomer and  Faramir/Éowyn
Rating: NC-17
Summery: AU Boromir Merry and Pippin are taken hostage by the Uruk-
hai. Boromir helps the two hobbits escape while he becomes the target of
the hungry orcs for fresh meat. When Éomer and the riders of Rohan kill
the band of Uruk-hai and orcs, Boromir is quickly cared for by the captain
of the riders, and both renew old bonds.
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Author’s Note: words inclosed in *stars* represent a flashback.

Chapter One: Angelic Face

	Boromir kept careful watch of his captors and a close eye on the
beasts who carried Merry and Pippin. They had gone days without rest,
water, or food, and Boromir could see both Merry and Pippin were
weakening. He glared at the head Uruk-hai and suppressed the urge to run
up and strangle him for what they had done to the hobbits and to himself.
Suddenly the party halted and Boromir was shoved hard to stop walking; a
welcome break for his weary legs.
	“We rest here for the night!” called the leader Uruk-hai. Boromir
was tossed down to the side along with Merry and Pippin. Boromir looked
to the two young hobbits.
	“Merry, Pippin? Are you two all right?” Pippin looked up and
nodded, wiggling a bit to get in a more comfortable position. Merry
simply swallowed and whimpered. Boromir frowned and gently reached
his tied hands to stroke Merry’s head.
	“I’m scared, Boromir,” he muttered, moving into the touch. The
man frowned and gently held the hobbit close. He had grown so fond of
the hobbits, in a fatherly way.
	“It’s all right, Merry, everything is going to be all right. I promise.”
Boromir looked up suddenly as a commotion was heard between the orcs.
	“Why can’t we just eat their legs! The little ones won’t need
them!”
	“Or the man, why must we have a man and not have a good
meal!?”
	“The man is MINE!” The argument started to become a brawl, and
none noticed the clatter of hooves coming closer.
	“Merry, Pippin, quickly! Move towards the forest, while no one is
looking. I’ll cover for you.”
	“But Boromir,” Pippin was quickly silenced by Boromir.
	“I’ll find you afterwards, please just go!” Boromir struggled to his
feet and looked in the direction of where the hooves were coming from.
	“FOR ROHAN!” The orcs were taken by surprise as the Riders of
Rohan came in, swords and spears ready.

	Éomer led the riders into the orc party and slew the leader orc and
Uruk-hai. Over the howls of pain and cries of the men, he heard one voice
faintly on the wind.
	“Riders of Rohan!” Éomer turned his horse around and saw a man
who he had not seen in several years. There, standing hurt, bleeding and
tied up, was the steward of Gondor’s eldest son and heir, Boromir.


	“BOROMIR! GET DOWN!” Éomer cried, rushing at full speed,
throwing his spear into the Uruk-hai behind the steward’s son. Boromir
ducked, but the sharp blade of the Uruk-hai still embedded itself into his
exposed back. Boromir cried out and collapsed from the weight of the
body and the sudden pain in his back. Éomer dismounted quickly and
pulled the sword out of the man’s back, released his hands and looked at
him.
	“Boromir, you’re in friendly arms now. RIDERS! FINISH THESE
CREATURES OFF THEN TEND TO OUR WOUNDED!” Éomer
quickly ripped away part of Boromir’s bloodied shirt and inspected the
wound. After being assured that the blade was not poisoned, Éomer
quickly dressed the wound and wrapped a part of Boromir’s shirt around
him.
	“Éomer, my friend, it is good to see you,” Boromir said, pain
lacing his voice. Éomer nodded sadly and lifted him up.
	“It is good to hear you are alive. Rumor had it you had perished.
Come, you need medical attention.” Éomer gently put him on his horse
and mounted behind him, an arm wrapped around him. “Put all the bodies
in a pile and burn them! Burn everything!” Éomer watched as his men did
as he willed and then rode off, hoping to get to a village where all the
injured could be cared for.

	“Riders of Rohan!” Aragorn cried, watching as the large group of
horses turned back and encircled him, Legolas and Gimli. Boromir looked
up weakly, seeing them.
	“Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli...” Éomer frowned at him.
	“You know them, Boromir?”
	“He was a part of the Fellowship. We thought he was lost to us.”
Aragorn looked up at Éomer, in shock at the sight of Boromir still alive.
	“Boromir, where are Merry and Pippin?” Gimli looked at the man
who winched.
	“They went for the woods, I was able to cover for them so that the
orcs wouldn’t see them,” Boromir groaned and leaned forward a bit.
	“The carcasses are in a pile burning, start there for your search, I
am taking Boromir to be treated for his wounds. He is in good hands. May
they serve you better than their former masters.” Éomer whistled for the
two horses without riders and handed them over.
	“Thank you. Take care, Boromir.” With that, the two parties
separated. Boromir watched and silently wished that the hobbits had made
it into the strange forest that seemed to whisper and move on its own.
	“Rest now, my friend, we will have a long journey ahead of us.”
Boromir looked up into Éomer’s angelic face and slipped blissfully into
unconsciousness.

	Boromir stirred hours, perhaps even days later; he was unawares as
to the time he had been asleep, or what had happened. He groaned gently,
his eyes fluttering open to stare once again into the angelic face of his
guardian. Éomer smiled and gently pressed a cloth onto his head.
	“Good morning, Boromir, how are you feeling?” Boromir smiled
and sighed deeply.
	“Dizzy, but well otherwise. It has been many years since I woke up
to your face, my friend.”
	Éomer chuckled and nodded. “Aye, that it has, my Boromir.” He
gently reached out and stroked a lock of hair from the face of the
steward’s son. Boromir gently reached up and held it, kissing the palm,
passion in his eyes. Éomer chuckled and leaned closer at the display of
affection, teasing Boromir with a kiss to his cheek.
	“I’m afraid your eagerness will have to wait until you are healed. I
have to wonder how many arrows you were hit with before they took pity
on you,” Éomer’s eyes and hands gently pulled down the covers to look at
the still fresh wounds from orc and Uruk-hai arrows.
	“Three, I believe, but I was not counting. Only fearing for the
young halfling’s lives. I did a terrible thing, Éomer. I tried to harm one, 
to
take something from him that neither my body nor my heart wanted, but
my soul craved. It was no act of what you fear,” Boromir looked into the
eyes of the young mark, giving him relief. “It was an item I tried to take. 
I
only hope that the halfling can forgive me, if I should meet him again.”
Éomer’s soft hands laced themselves in Boromir’s locks and leaned closer.
	“My friend, no one could not forgive you for any act. You are a
brave soul, a strong man with morals that many have not. I am sure this
halfling of which you speak will forgive you, and most certainly already
has. Here, drink.” Boromir was helped to sit up slightly and given a cup of
clear water. He eagerly drank the fluid; the rank water he was forced to
drink from the orcs was laced with no doubt a horrid ale that he wanted to
cleanse from his body.
	“Thank you,” he said, clearing his mouth with the back of his
hand. Éomer laughed gently and smiled.
	“You are welcome. Now, get some rest; you need time to heal, as
well as prepare. I must tell you it is taking all my will power not to ride
you now.” Boromir laughed whole-heartedly and smiled.
	“Thank the Valar then for your strong will power.” Éomer smiled
and leaned closer, brushing a kiss on Boromir’s lips.
	“Thank the Valar that I did not loose you, my love. I shall come
back later with some food if you are willing to eat. Now rest, and gain
strength.” Boromir watched quietly as the Captain of the Riders of Rohan
walked off. Boromir sighed and smiled licking his lips, still feeling the
gentle press of their kiss; then slipped off into sleep.

	Éomer headed across the camp in search for extra clothes that
would fit the steward’s son once he was fit to walk around.
	“Captain. Captain, may I speak with you?” Éomer looked over at
the young rider and smiled.
	“Yes. What is wrong?” The rider looked at him with a questionable
look.
	“Who is this stranger that you care for, sir? Is it not dangerous in
these times to pick up men like that?” Éomer took a deep breath and
released it, smiling slightly at the young man’s ignorance.
	“That is no stranger. That is Boromir, son of the Steward of
Gondor, and my long time friend. I assure you, there is no harm in caring
for him. Lest you get him angry. Then you shall see him dangerous; but
there are few things that anger him thus. You need not to fear.” Éomer
waited no further for questions and resumed his quest for clothing in his
own tent. After searching for several minutes he finally found clothing
that, he hoped, would fit the steward’s son. Éomer folded them up and
headed into the mess tent, collecting food for both he and Boromir. He
smiled gently as he collected a few apples, remembering a time not too far
in the past.
	He was only a young lad when he first met the Steward’s son.
They were both carefree and when their respective father and uncle bid
them to go and enjoy each other’s company, they quickly headed to the
kitchen. Éomer had handed Boromir a few apples so that they could eat
them after they ‘escaped’ to the higher towers.
	*“Éomer, look-it what I can do!” Éomer turned around and
laughed, watching as the young Boromir began to juggle the apples
together.
	“Can you juggle four?” he asked, his smile widening as he tossed
Boromir another apple. Boromir chewed on his tongue gently and juggled
the four apples. Éomer laughed and smiled.
	“Do you want to know how?” Boromir grinned and caught the four
apples quickly.
	 He nodded and smiled. “I’d love to.” He took the apples and
frowned. “How do I start?” They spent most of that time in the kitchen
and elsewhere juggling and playing tricks.*
	Éomer glanced around, taking the three apples and began to juggle
them, almost dropping them in the process. Shaking his head, he smiled
placing the apples on a platter and headed off back to Boromir’s tent.
Éomer peeked in and smiled, watching his lover’s sleeping form. He
slowly went in and put the food down to let his lover’s body rest, and his
mind wander in his dreams. He glanced over and wondered who he dreamt
of.
	~ Most likely his brother, ~ he thought to himself with a smile. He
knew the two were close. Not quite as close as he and Boromir were, but
close enough to almost make the captain of the banished riders suspect.
Éomer frowned and shook his head.
	“Boromir would never do that; he loves his brother, yes, but not to
lay in bed with him. He swore to me that I was his only.”
	“You are.” Éomer jumped and spun around, seeing Boromir sitting
up, though with pain. He cast his eyes to the side and frowned.
	“I am sorry, if you overheard anything. I am still a man and have
doubts. Forgive me, Boromir.” Boromir smiled at him and chuckled with a
grimace of pain.
	“There is nothing to forgive. I admit myself I was worried that you
had found another.” Éomer went over and knelt by his bed.
	“No, no one could ever replace you in my heart. The only one who
could come close is my sister; and she is for one, a woman and for
another, my sister.” They laughed together, and Boromir gently held
Éomer’s hand with a smile.
	“I know Éomer, I know.” Boromir smiled and played with a lock
of the fair hair upon Éomer’s head.
	“All right you, that’s enough. I’ve got some food for us to eat. You
look as if you had not had good food to eat in several months.” Boromir
nodded sadly at this.
	“Only elvish waybread, lembas from the Lady Galadriel of the
golden wood. Though one bite is enough to fill my stomach, I have long
craved the taste of a fresh apple.” Boromir got his wish as Éomer tossed
him one of the apples.
	“I will do all I can to please the steward’s son. Eat, I will keep you
company if you wish it.”
	“I do, Éomer.” Boromir smiled and took a large bite out of the
fresh apple; a trickle of the juices rolling down his chin. Éomer smiled and
leaned closer, licking the bit of skin and juice from the apple up into his
mouth.
	Boromir eagerly turned his head and took Éomer’s tongue into his
mouth. He gently held him closer enjoying the closeness and taste of the
captain of the riders. Éomer closed his eyes and smiled against his lover’s
lips, tasting the sweet juices of the apple as well as Boromir himself. They
moaned gently against each other’s mouths, the apple in Boromir’s hand
forgotten. Éomer reluctancy pushed away catching his breath.
	“Not yet, Boromir. You tease me anymore, and I fear I may add to
your pain already.” Éomer smiled as he spoke, pulling away only enough
to give Boromir some room. The black haired man nodded and went back
to his apple, manners forgotten for a moment.
	“A pain I would welcome, Éomer; but I understand your concern.”
His mouth was full of food as he spoke, and Éomer chuckled warmly.
	“As much as I enjoy seeing you so relaxed, I suggest you mind
your manners.” Boromir gave him a flat look and swallowed clearing his
beard.
	“Well if my memory serves me, dear Éomer, I am thirteen years
older than you, and your superior. Besides, I’ve seen you have worse
manners than speaking with your mouth full.” Éomer gave him a playfully
hurt look and sulked.
	“Well, I guess then I should leave if that’s how you feel.” He went
to get up, and Boromir sighed and laughed.
	“Sit back down Éomer. I’d rather have someone I know in here
with me than one of your other riders. No offence to them.” Éomer smiled
and nodded.
	“None taken I’m sure. Most of them do not know you. They have
hardly seen the white city, most of them only hearing of it in tales.”
Boromir frowned and finished his apple thinking.
	“It is a shame, really...” Boromir stopped and frowned, looking up
at the tent’s ceiling in deep thought. Éomer looked at him sadly and spoke
quietly.
	“You miss your home, don’t you, Boromir.” It was a statement
rather than a question. Éomer knew Boromir since they were children and
knew the looks in the older man’s eyes.
	“Yes. You know me too well, Éomer my love; but if rumor had it
that I died, and it reached Rohan, then no doubt it would have reached
Gondor by now, and my father and brother. I only hope that I can see them
and put their fears to rest that I am alive.” Boromir turned to Éomer and
smiled gently.
	“I know in my heart that, like I, they will not believe such rumors.”
Éomer smiled gently and chuckled warmly.
	“This is true, my Rider. My brother will no doubt dream of my
safe being.” Boromir chuckled and sighed, relaxing a bit.
	“Faramir will. You and he are very close; he will know you are
safe. He has a gift, even though you tell me he considers it a burden.”
Éomer sat close to the bedside and offered Boromir some other fresh
fruits, he himself ignoring the slight pangs of hunger.
	“It is at times for him, but I know he will learn to accept his
dreams.” Boromir looked at his friend and lover with a very suspicious
look. “Now Éomer, I know you are hungry, why are you letting me eat
while you are drooling?” That comment earned the Steward’s son a swift
smack over the head, though gentle.
	“I do not drool; and I’m fine, really. I can handle some days yet
without food, we’ll be moving a lot now, making sure orcs are far from
Rohan, even though King Theoden seems to have lost all sight of friend
from foe, and from family.” Boromir frowned and gently held the rider’s
hand.
	“And so the truth comes out finally. Tell me, Éomer, why did your
uncle banish you?” Éomer sighed and held the older man’s hand close.
	“It was not him, but that snake, Wormtongue. My uncle has lost all
thought and his ‘good advisor’ is sowing seeds into his mind of darkness
and lies. I fear for Éowyn; she is alone now, and that snake is haunting her
steps! I am not there to protect her! My own sister...” Boromir gently
wrapped his arms around his lover and friend.
	“Éowyn is strong, she will not let any darkness that he says grow
in her. She is a shield maiden of Rohan. Éomer, what of Theodred?”
Boromir asked, gently stroking the blond locks of the younger man.
Éomer pulled away composing himself from his outburst and sighed.
	“My cousin is dead. Attacked by Orcs of Saruman from Isengard.
He and Éowyn were very close. I long suspect that he was the one who
taught her the use of a sword. We have been betrayed by Saruman, and I
have been banished with my men who are still loyal to the King.” Boromir
frowned and still held Éomer’s hand.
	“I am sorry, Éomer. I didn’t mean to open wounds.” Éomer smiled
gently, squeezing Boromir’s hand.
	“That’s alright, you did not know. How are your wounds?” The
rider distracted himself by gently probing the wrappings and checking the
herb packages on the wounds.
	“Well, thank you. Your healing abilities, I dare say, rival that of
Aragorn.” Éomer blinked and looked at his face with curiosity.
	“You mentioned that name before, when you saw the man, dwarf
and elf.  Tell me, what happened?” Boromir sighed and recalled the tale of
the fellowship and the breaking due to his own lust for the one ring. He
left nothing out, including the ill terrors that the Lady Galadriel had
spoken to him in his own mind. Éomer listened quietly, letting the man he
had fallen in love with tell of the horrors and of the death of Mithrandir;
and his own ill treatment from the orcs and Uruk-hai.
	“I did not know what you went through, Boromir; and the king has
returned to Gondor?” Éomer looked at Boromir in shock. Boromir shook
his head.
	“Not as of yet. He does not want that power, and even in my heart
I doubt my father will let go of the power he holds, even if it is waning in
the eyes of our people.” Boromir’s eyes became distant and tired looking.
Éomer stroked his head and smiled gently.
	“Rest, love. I’ve drained what energy you had from talking and
making you remember such horrible things. I shall be training and
speaking with my lieutenants, not too far away if you need me.” Boromir
nodded and winched as he slid down gently. Éomer smiled and gave him a
kiss, covering him up after checking his bandages again.
	“Thank you, Éomer, my rider,” Boromir said, smiling gently, and
slipped easily into a welcome sleep. Éomer watched for a few moments
and then got up with the remainder of the food and left quietly.


Chapter Two: The White Rider

	It was several weeks before Boromir was finally up and walking;
but the valar protected the rogue riders in a valley, and they were able to
hunt for food and set up a base of operations, so much as it was. Boromir
stood watching the riders from his tent, dressed in clothes that had been
refitted for him that would no longer fit Éomer. The pain from the arrows
as well as the long scar in his back would occasionally put him in bed for a
day or two, but beyond that and most of the rider’s concerns he worked
around as much as his body would let him.
	“He’s lame on the left side, only slightly, but he’ll need to be
rested well.” Éomer went over to the young man who was riding his horse
and helped him down, gently tending to the horse’s lame side. Boromir
watched quietly leaning up against a stone near the horse stalls and
working areas. The young man was probably only just of age, and watched
the older man intently for tips on how to care better for his horse.
	“He’ll be fine...a splint should help a bit. It could be a minor brake
or a tear. Take him to his stable and rest him.” The young rider nodded
and took his horse gently into the stables. Éomer got up and brushed
himself off and saw Boromir out of the corner of his eye and smiled.
	“Up and doing your rounds again, Boromir?” Éomer said with a
smile. Boromir walked over and nodded breathing in the fresh air.
	“Of course, it’s the only thing that keeps me sane. Other than you,
of course,” Boromir laughed warmly and sighed content in being able to
walk about in the sunlight.
	“Not that you had much sanity left in you, my dear Boromir.
Taking on how many Uruk-hai? You truly are a man above men,” Éomer
said softly and he walked closer to the man of Gondor. Boromir smiled
and shook his head.
	“Those are for the Dúnedain, I am simply a steward’s son.” Éomer
laughed warmly at Boromir’s words and put a warm hand upon his
shoulder.
	“That may be, but you do have the blood of the elves in you, as do
I. Though it is faint, we still have a line similar to the Kings of men. 
Come
Boromir, let us take a walk. I do not wish to reek of horse at dinner later
tonight.” Éomer walked along quietly waiting for Boromir to catch up.
Boromir smiled and followed the younger man. It surprised many that he
and the captain of the Mark were but thirteen years apart in age. Many
said they looked no more than two years apart, but the blood of elves was
in them.
	Boromir recalled his time in Rivendell and remembered long ago
when he and his father went there to seek answers. Boromir was but a
child but he knew he was different from other men’s children, yet he
feared the ageless Elrond; and feared to ask him a burning question.
	* “My lord, Elrond,” he said quietly looking up nervously at the
raven haired elf. When Elrond turned and smiled at him, it quelled some
of the young Boromir’s worries.
	“Yes young one?” Elrond knelt down in front of him and smiled.
Boromir fidgeted and looked up again into the ageless gray eyes that knew
more than he would ever hope.
	“Why am I different? From other men, that is.” At first Boromir
was afraid the elf would rebuke him for such a silly question, but no.
Elrond smiled warmly and rubbed his head and sat down in a chair and
patted the seat next to him.
	“It is a long story, little Boromir; but I will tell it to you, if you
wish to listen.” Boromir nodded eagerly excited to hear a story from an
elf, who no doubt had lived it.
	“Oh yes, sir!” Boromir was excited beyond measure of a boy.*
	“Boromir...?” Éomer’s voice came through Boromir’s memory
diving and shook him from the once kind face of the lord Elrond.
	“Sorry, off day dreaming, I suppose.” Boromir turned his head
slightly to look into the north.
	“Of what?” Éomer followed his eyes and imagined he could see
the Misty Mountains in the far off land, but it was not so.
	“Of the first time I went to Rivendell; and how I thought I knew
the Lord Elrond there. He has changed greatly. He...” Boromir paused and
looked into Éomer’s eyes. “He is more human now. Easy to anger, and his
eyes have lost the love I thought he looked on me with when I was but a
child. Perhaps it is the sea longing in him, I do not know.” Boromir sighed
deeply and winched and held his side where the one arrow pierced his
lung.
	“Time has caused us all to change Boromir. Who can fathom the
ways of the elves? A century to us might be but a day to them. I do not
think he looks on you with the distaste you think. Elrond has always
been...moody, to say the least; but perhaps that is because of his
upbringing.” Boromir was once again reminded of the past of Elrond and
nodded.
	“This is true...” Boromir meant to speak more, but a sudden call
from the riders below of a white rider caused all to stop. Both he and
Éomer reached for their swords in nervousness as the great white horse
and the rider atop came into view. They both stopped short, seeing the
eyes of a long time friend and Boromir saw the form of a ghost in front of
him.
	“Mithrandir,” Éomer gawked and looked over Shadowfax and
Gandalf. Boromir stumbled back and shook his head.
	“You fell, I saw it with my own eyes. You fell with the Balrog!”
Gandalf simply smiled and dismounted.
	“So did you, by orc arrows, yet here we are. Come I will explain in
privacy.” In confusion, both Boromir and Éomer followed. Boromir
watched the wizard carefully, wondering if this was some trick by the evil
Saruman.

	“So I have been sent back, until my task is completed; but more
pressing matters are at hand now. Éomer, your uncle is in great need, you
and your men are their only hope for defeating the armies of Saruman. We
must ride within the hour, lest we arrive to late to be of aid.” Gandalf
looked over at the two men who were seated across the table.
	“My men will be prepared to go within a half of that time. Come
Boromir, I have an extra set of armor you can use.” As Éomer got up to
leave with Boromir, Gandalf spoke up again.
	“Boromir, I am concerned about your injuries that you have
described. Perhaps you should not join in this battle,” Gandalf spoke
quietly looking over the man of Gondor. Boromir looked over the wizard
with a dark frown.
	“I am perfectly fit to fight, Mithrandir. I owe my life to Éomer and
the men of the Mark. I fought a hoard of Uruk-hai single handedly. I know
I am mortal, but I will not leave Éomer’s side. I am perfectly fit for
battle,” Boromir said standing close to Éomer, his pride and love for the
Rider not allowing him to leave while his best friend and lover went into
battle.
	“It seems that it is impossible to separate you two when you find
each other. At least take council, Boromir and don’t do anything rash. I
sense that you may have a larger role to play in this quest yet again.” With
the words said Boromir and Éomer gave their parting respects to the
wizard and left him to his musings.

	Éomer undressed with speed and determination inside the tent he
shared with Boromir. No one ever asked questions about why the Steward
of Gondor’s son and the Captain of the Rohirrim were sleeping in the
same tent; and no one truly ever cared. Boromir winched and undressed
slightly slower but with no less purpose. He reached for the clothes that
Éomer had gotten refitted for him.
	“Do you really think Mithrandir thinks me unfit to fight, Éomer?”
He looked to the man of Rohan his eyes unconsciously settling on his
perfectly round ass. Éomer looked over and smiled.
	“No, I think he’s worried about you is all.... You did take a bad hit
to the back. Mithrandir is just concerned is all. And will you stop staring 
at
my ass? You’ll get to get a taste of it after the battle. I promise.” 
Boromir
coughed and looked away casually clearing his mouth from the drool that
was rolling down the corners of his smile. He looked innocent and tried to
get the heavy mail shirt on over his under shirt.
	“Let me help, Boromir, you idiot.” Boromir smiled and let the
rider’s hands take over the menial task. Éomer smiled and gently let his
hands linger over Boromir’s crotch before helping him dress in the armor
of Rohan. While Boromir was used to the beautiful silver and white armor
of Gondor, he wasn’t too unfamiliar with Rohan’s rustic reds and golds.
As they finished dressing Boromir handed Éomer his tall helm with the
horse hair tassel on the top.
	“Have I ever told you, you look absolutely fetching in your armor,
love?” Boromir asked with a smile gracing his features. A blush rose
slightly on Éomer’s face and he chuckled.
	“Many times. Here...you’ll need this...” the blond offered Boromir
a helmet but Boromir declined.
	“I’ve been to battle many times and I never wore a helm. I’m not
about to break my old tradition now.” The look upon the younger man’s
face almost caused Boromir’s heart to leap into his loins. “Éomer...if I’m
going to die in battle, then I will. Thank you for the offer but...I cannot
take it. I’m old and set in my ways.”
	“At least take it with you Boromir, for my sake. I would not want
to see your beautiful face harmed by harsh blows from the enemy,” as he
spoke he gently stroked the older man’s face and cheek, feeling the coarse
hair of his beard. Boromir kissed his hand gently and took the helm and
looked it over before putting it on.
	“Besides, I look stupid in helmets.” Éomer chuckled and kissed
him lovingly.
	“No you don’t. Now come on...we need to tell the men to get ready
to move.” Boromir nodded and sighed.
	“Then let’s go. We have a large group yet to get ready to move.”
Éomer nodded,  leaving the tent and Boromir following shortly after.

	“The men are ready, Mithrandir,” Éomer said, concern for his men
lacing his voice as he walked his horse towards the white wizard. Boromir
followed slightly behind walking a large powerful war horse that had no
rider any longer. The two were dressed for battle, Boromir wearing a
Rohirrim helm at the request of his lover.
	“Good...then we must make haste. We must make Helms Deep in
two days time. Sound the call...we must leave!” Gandalf took no more
time and mounted Shadowfax and rode off towards the south and Helms
Deep. Boromir and Éomer quickly mounted and the call was brought up to
follow the wizard without question. No questions were asked and none
were needed as the group of Rohirrim numbering almost three thousand
rode off after the stunning figure of Gandalf.
	The ride was long and hard but by the dawn of the second day
from leaving their protected valley they rode into Helms Deep. With the
rising sun at their back, Boromir and Éomer led the charge into the hoard
of Uruk-Hai along with the shining form of Mithrandir. Boromir cried out
in the tongue of Gondor while Éomer and the Rohirrim cried out in the
voice of Rohan. The dark beasts were blinded by the light of the new
white wizard and of the dawning sun.
	Boromir quickly drove towards the center of the field where a
large Uruk-Hai stood on a large boulder ordering the others. He knew that
if you took the captain the rest of the beasts would flee and loose all
courage. His sword loose and his battered shield that had been recovered
by Gandalf were blocking and slaying the horrendous creatures left and
right. The once speedy gallop had now all but slowed to a walk in a
nightmarish valley. Boromir sheathed his sword as he neared close enough
to the boulder and hefted a spear and through it, skewering the Uruk below
the neck. As the beast fell, the battle tide turned into the favor of Rohan.
	Within the hour that Éomer and the men of the mark came to
Helms Deep, the beasts from Isenguard were fleeing towards ‘home’. As
the men of Rohan rode out to make sure that the beasts would not return,
Boromir noticed the sudden tree-line that had appeared below them.
Éomer was the first to act upon it.
	“Stay out of the trees!” he called as he rode his war horse across
the gap between the mountains in which Helms Deep was sheltered. The
men stopped and watched as the last of the Uruk fled into what they
thought was a sheltered forest. Within moments, their screams could be
heard and the trees began to move again. Their cries sent a cheer from the
men that the beasts were finally taken care of.



Chapter Three: A Night in Rohan

	“Hail the victorious Dead!”
	“HAIL!” the Rohirrim cried in response to their rejuvenated king. As the
victory celebrations commenced, Éomer and Boromir headed towards the
kegs, where Gimli and Legolas were involved in a rather...comical debate.
	“Dwarves can hold their liquor just as well as you hold a bow!” Legolas
cried looking down his nose, at the dwarf. Gimli glared and muttered
something trying to come up with a retort. Ever the more playful of the
two men, Éomer went over to the elf and dwarf.
	“Gentlemen, gentlemen...why we can settle this like dwarf and elf, now
can’t we?” The two looked rather doubtful of the man from Rohan.
	“With what?” Gimli said. Éomer simply grinned.
	“Why, with a game of course.” With that the eyes of both elf and dwarf lit
up, and Éomer headed behind a large wooden bar and began placing large
mugs in front of him and filled up two. Boromir sat behind and watched as
the insanity slowly caught on.
	“The rules: No pauses, no coughing.”
	“And no regurgitation!” Gimli quickly caught onto the game. Boromir
snorted into his hand and grabbed a mug and got some ale for himself
before the two players drained all of Edoras.
	“So it’s a drinking game...” Legolas said, an eyebrow arched elegantly.
Boromir snorted into his mug. The elf looked completely dumbfounded.
He had heard from Aragorn that even though Legolas was from
Mirkwood, and that Thranduil had a very high tolerance for alcohol,
Legolas could not hold his own that well, compared to his brothers and
father.
	“The last one standing wins!” Gimli was far too excited than any dwarf
should have been and they both picked up their mugs, Legolas with some
hesitance, and began the contest.
	Boromir silently watched as the contest went on. Gimli was far ahead in
the drinking portion of the contest, and was starting to get only a little
tipsy. Legolas was far behind only on his fifth or sixth mug and was
hardly even red in the cheeks. Éomer glanced back and smiled at the
Gondorian. He already knew who was going to win. With Gimli’s speed
of drinking, he wouldn’t outlast the elf, who was taking his good old time.
Boromir too knew this and nodded with a smile and sipped more of his
drink, only on the second mug, and hardly had gotten it a quarter done.
	Within an hour the contest was won, but not before some really
embarrassing moments that many men would probably make sure to tell
about in the morning.
	“I feel something...a slight tingling in my fingers....I think it’s 
effecting
me...” By that time Legolas had finished his twentieth mug while
Gimli...well they lost count with the dwarf. Gimli was completely
plastered, while Legolas was dazed and very red in the cheeks.
	“What did I tell ye....he....can’t....hold his...”the sentence was never
finished, as the dwarf suddenly went cross-eyed and passed out. Legolas
blinked and leaned over looking down at the dwarf’s plastered face and
looked back up.
	“Game over...” But Legolas still had several more mugs of ale before
starting to act more like a heavily intoxicated man. He was fighting the
intoxication and after his seventh victory mug of ale, the young prince,
too, joined his dwarf companion willingly on the floor blissfully passing
out with his arms wrapped around the dwarf.
	With the game over, Éomer and Boromir quietly left the drinking hall for
the rider’s room. With a quick stop at the wine cellar, where some of the
rare wine that Rohan did not seem to care for was kept, the two men
continued on their way.
	“Now for our own celebration, my lovely stallion of Gondor.” Éomer
smiled as he spoke and produced two wine glasses. Boromir smiled and
sat down upon the large bed, waiting for the blond rider. Both were
without armor and in clothes for the party which they had left.
	“You spoil me, love.” Boromir took the now full glass of wine and waited
as the rider set the bottle down and joined the Gondorian with his own full
glass of the red wine. The blond sat down and raised his glass in a toast.
	“To your health, and the freedom of all Middle Earth.” Éomer smiled and
leaned closer to the black haired man as he too raised his glass.
	“To us and to freedom.” Their glasses clinked and they downed the wine
in a single mouthful. Relaxing they smiled warmly at each other and
leaned into a deep kiss. Tentative at first, the two were rediscovering each
other’s full taste and sent. With growing strength the kisses became deeper
and their breathing more erotic.
	“Wait...wait, Boromir, we are not yet ready.” Éomer’s eyes glittered with
lust and his lips were swollen from the kisses. With torturously slow
movements, the blond got up and stepped away, untying his shirt slowly
down his collar bone. Boromir suddenly felt that it was far too warm in the
fire lit room for a shirt on and pulled at his anxiously.
	Éomer smiled at his lover’s sudden interest with the game and he
continued his slow and deliberate strip. He was almost done with his shirt
and could already see the bulge in the Gondorian’s pants, small but
steadily growing. Throwing off his shirt, Éomer let his hair flow just over
his shoulders. Now he began the part which would send Boromir into rolls
of unchecked impatience. Sitting down in a large chair across from where
the black haired man was, he leaned back and teasingly pulled at the
strings on his pants.
	Boromir panted and finally shed his undershirt watching as the blond
angelic beauty before him teased. He could feel his erection becoming
stronger and his breath become quicker than he could keep. As Éomer sat
down and began to tug upon the strings, Boromir knew it was enough. He
pulled open his own pants and shed them very quickly, allowing the cool
air to hit heated flesh. He saw his lover’s erection suddenly jump into his
pants at the sight. Boromir knew how to play the game and he was going
to try to be as patient as he could.
	Éomer practically groaned at the sight of Boromir’s manhood springing
from the confines of the riding pants. His own erection suddenly took hold
and he could barely contain the urge to rip free and pounce on the heavily
muscled figure before him. Boromir was always the heavier of the two,
but never fat. Muscles rippled across his chest and arms showing the signs
of a warrior who had been through many trials. His thighs and calves were
toned to perfection and beautifully framed the penis and testes that were
larger than Éomer’s own. He didn’t realize that he had begun to pant and
sweat at the sight, and he quickened the pace of his strip only slightly,
allowing the strings to become undone. He slowly pushed his remaining
clothes down below his hips and groaned a bit as his own heated flesh
became free.
	Boromir had had enough. He sprang from the bed and practically into
Éomer’s lap. He knelt before the Rohirrim and smiled grabbing onto his
hips.
	“Enough teasing. I need you...NOW.” Boromir pulled Éomer free the rest
of the way from his pants and eagerly pulled the younger man up and into
the bed. Éomer followed him into the down filled mattress and laid there
quietly admiring the steward’s son before him. Boromir wasted no time in
kissing down the blond’s neck and chest. He smiled into the fine blond
curls and followed the line down past his navel, stopping to lap at it
playfully, before finally reaching the bed of tightly curled pubic hair that
bedded the golden erection of the man of Rohan. He began stroking
Éomer lightly, teasingly.
	“Ai, Boromir...!” Éomer thrust gently into his hands, back arched and
hands digging into the sheets. Boromir eagerly took the thrusting in his
hands and then licked the head causing Éomer’s eyes to open wide and a
faster reaction from his hips. Boromir grinned and licked the head,
beginning to suck. Éomer panted in ragged breaths and thrust harder into
the Gondorian’s mouth, eager to feel himself be completely consumed.
	Boromir wasted no time and quickly let the Rohirrim do as he pleased, his
own breath becoming ragged and his erection twitching for attention. As
Boromir began to suck harder upon Éomer’s shaft, the younger man sat up
and muttered something in the tongue of Rohan that Boromir had no
knowledge of.
	“Boromir...let me have you...” Éomer then dissolved into pleas in his own
language. Boromir ignored him and began to nip and suckle harder upon
the hardened penis in his mouth and caused the younger, more
inexperienced man to fall back and moan in pleasure and in need for
release. Boromir smiled and tasted the sweet and salty beads of pre-cum
coming out from the slitted head. He sucked harder needing more of the
nectar of his lover. Éomer thrust harder and with more speed, his eyes
dilated in the heat of the moment. With one final thrust upword, Boromir
drank the hot liquid, losing some out of the corners of his mouth. Boromir
closed his eyes and swallowed hard holding the younger man’s body
upward gently as the organ twitched and spent itself, becoming soft.
Boromir could no longer hold himself and exploded across the bedding
between them. Éomer groaned and slumped back onto the bed as Boromir
crawled back up to his side and gave him a kiss, letting the younger man
taste himself.
	“Another pair of sheets gives itself up to please us, bless them,” Éomer
whispered, his voice hoarse from the love making and gently clung to the
man next to him.
	“Ai, such honorable sheets,” Boromir laughed gently and smiled as the
man dozed in his arms. Kissing his head and gently muttering a love vow
into his ear, Boromir soon joined Éomer in a deep and well deserved
sleep.